On Better Terms
by Galythia
Summary: At the age of nineteen, Arthur was forced to drop out of school to take care of his little brother. He then rushed into marriage, divorced soon after, and was left a miserable wreck. What happens when he becomes the chauffeur for the lawyer, Alfred Jones? Very little Rus/Am.
1. Prologue

**On Better Terms  
**

Prologue

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur:** What?! I get married to Ivan?!

**Ivan: **Galythia... You have outdone yourself... Even England is now one with Russia! :3

**Arthur:** Galythia, I hate you! I'll get you with the whole of the Royal Army and Royal Navy once I come back from hiding! *runs away*

**Galythia:** Hehe...

**Ivan:** Oh Galythia~ It's your turn now!

**Galythia:** :O

* * *

(Arthur's POV)

_It was the perfect day. The sun was shining brightly and the sky was practically devoid of clouds. There was just a small gathering of people: our parents, close friends, and just a few other relatives. _

_I was standing next to someone that I truly loved. It was just a bonus that he was alluringly handsome and very rich. That would just make it easier for me to take care of my younger brother, who wasn't even out of high school yet. But I absolutely loved this man in front of me, or so I thought._

_It was to be the best day of my life. It was the day that I got married to Ivan Braginski._

* * *

Author's Comments:

This is my first fic! I've read many, _many_ fics, but this is the first time that I've gotten the inspiration to write one down.  
This is definitely going to be an interesting one, if nothing else. At least, I think so.

I know that there's not much to review at the moment, but if you can at least drop a word to tell me that _someone's _reading, then I'll possibly be spirited to write more. Chapter one is almost done!

- Galythia


	2. Chapter 1

**On Better Terms **

Chapter 1

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Alfred:** Oh yeah! I get to make an appearance in this one! And guess what? I'm the hero too!

**Arthur:** Oh just be quiet, you annoying idiot...

**Alfred:** You're just jealous.

**Peter:** Ha, big brother. Galythia did justice to your cooking.

**Arthur: **W-What?! You... you... Peter, go do your work or something!

**Peter: **Arthur, you meanie. *sticks out tongue*

**Francis:** Mon petit cherie Peter! Since my Asian lover filed for a restraining order, will you keep me company?

**Arthur:** Keep away from my little brother, you pedophile of a creeper!

**Galythia:** -_-" Okay... Nothing to see here. Let's move on to the story before Francis starts going after m—

**Francis: **Galythia!!!

**Galythia: **Crap!

* * *

Arthur sat on the park bench, staring blankly up at the sky, letting the sun strike the side of his face and warm him. There were no clouds in sight, save a couple of white wisps here and there.  
The weather reminded him too much of that day long ago. He smiled wryly. Those days had been _very _long ago. Many things had changed since then, the most important of all being their divorce.  
Their love wasn't ever meant to be. They were just in the throes of young love and had acted too rashly. Looking back, Arthur often chuckled at how naïve he had been in his youth. After all, they had gotten married when Arthur was only twenty, and Ivan twenty-two.

Remembering the wedding always brought him great pain. He didn't love Ivan like he thought he did, but he had given himself the hope that at least his brother would be taken care of by Ivan's wealth. In the end, it was too much to hope for.

Arthur stood up and started his walk back to his hole in the wall that he shared with his brother, still dwelling on the matter as he often did.

* * *

Alfred sighed. The day had been so tiring! There had been calls from all around the country, asking for him specifically. Being the top lawyer of his firm was a tough position.  
Now he finally got a moment of rest, but he was sure that there was going to be yet another call soon.

Alfred had decided on this job long ago because of two factors: one, he got to be as loud and spirited as he wanted in order to make his point; two, he got to be the hero all the time! What better job could there be?

Sure enough, Alfred's phone rang its dull tone. This time from some very angered woman asking for a restraining order of the highest degree on some guy named Francis. Alfred listened idly, writing down the needed facts, and then saying that he'd get back to her.

And so his day continued.

* * *

Arthur arrived home with the groceries. His brother had gotten home safely and was sitting on the rug in their living room/dining room working on math homework. Arthur smiled slightly upon seeing him, relieved, as he was every day, that his brother had come home all right.

Arthur started immediately on dinner, which was _supposed_ to be a pot roast, but no one could be really sure what the end product was.

As he waited for the food to cook in the oven, Arthur went over to the calendar to examine his schedule for the rest of the day. Peter had nothing else to do as usual, but Arthur had his night shift at the Walgreens down the street.

He sighed. Tonight was going to be a long night. Any day when he was haunted by the memories of his past marriage would be an exasperating one. He knew that for sure.

* * *

Alfred loosened his tie as he got into his sleek black BMW. He pulled out of the parking spot and started his cross-city commute back home, tired from all the calls and meetings that he had had that day.

He turned on some good rock music to soothe his nerves and was just about to let loose when his cell phone rang.  
Highly put off, he turned off the radio and picked up the phone. In a very annoyed voice, he answered, "_Hello?_"

A gruff voice replied. Very difficult to understand. "Mr. J'nes?"

"Yes, it is he."

The man seemed slightly relieved. His tone remained brusque nonetheless. "Mr. Jones, m' name 's Berw'ld Ox'nstierna. I'm your opp'sing lawy'r in yo'r upcom'ng case 'n Wedn'sday. I was j'st 'oping to 'sk you some q'est'ons."

Alfred sighed inwardly. That he had hoped that his call wouldn't be on business was too much. Just once, couldn't it be some hot woman asking him out on a date? But it just wasn't destined for this hero to ever have some woman waiting at home for him. _I guess not all heroes have sexy girlfriends…_

He switched the phone to speaker, placed it on his lap, and cleared his throat. "Ask away, Mr. Oxenstierna."

* * *

Arthur placed the plate on the rickety table—more so a small stack of books—and called for his brother to come and eat. He then went over to the door and put on his coat, deciding to skip dinner. He had to make it to his job on time, possibly early, or risk getting fired. He could always eat dinner after he got home.

Peter ran over excitedly to the table to see what was on the menu, but when he saw the brown/black lump of whatever it was, he tried to tiptoe back to the rug. That didn't escape Arthur's eye though.

"Peter! Get back to the table and eat your dinner!"

Peter pouted, but followed his brother's words, sitting down and staring disgustedly at the 'roast.' He tentatively picked up a fork and poked at it. His fork clattered on the plate when the thing _moved_. Arthur hadn't noticed that part.

Arthur murmured a good-bye then walked out the door, leaving his younger brother to stare at the food—if he could call it that—in front of him with blatant horror. His stomach grumbled, but he wasn't sure if his hunger was strong enough for him to eat Arthur's awful cooking.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Okay, so I'm skipping some AP US History homework to do this, since this is definitely a lot more fun than studying about feminism in Seneca! But now that I've posted up the first chapter, I'll have to go do it... -_-"  
Anyways, I hope that you've enjoyed it so far. Please review!

Oh, and if you check back on the prologue, I've added the Hetalia Commentary thing up top. :D

- Galythia

* * *

Poll Question!

Do you guys like the way that I'm formatting it at the moment? As in, there's only one or two sentences before a line break. Or, do you guys like it better if I make it more paragraphical?


	3. Chapter 2

**On Better Terms  
**

Chapter 2

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur:** My parents died?! Oh good lord...

**Alfred: **I don't care about that. I'm rich! I'm rich! I told you that heroes were awesome!

**Arthur:** My parents aren't dead! What are you saying? Mother! *calls his mom*

**Alfred: ***points to Arthur behind him* And that is why _he_ isn't a hero. ;P

* * *

Alfred had a very long night last night. Bernese Oxenstein or something had kept him up almost all night asking very garbled questions that took Alfred quite a bit to comprehend.  
When Alfred got to bed, it was four in the morning. It was like his opposing lawyer didn't even need sleep! Not once did Bernard yawn or show any sign of weariness.

Alfred, on the other hand, was yawning the whole time, but he tried his best to keep himself awake for the sake of lawyer-to-lawyer etiquette. Opposing lawyers were allowed to ask each other questions before the hearing and such, and the other lawyer was supposed to be cooperative. Alfred wasn't about to hurt his career as a hero over something so small.

And so, Alfred was now sitting in his office, legs resting on his desk, eyes closed, and listening to his secretary. It was all he could do to not fall asleep as he listened to the client report.

When Toris was finished with speaking, Alfred sat up and rested his chin on his hands. "Sounds good," he simply stated and dismissed Toris. He hadn't even heard a word that Toris had said, except for the fact that he would be staying in the office late that night.

Just what he needed.

* * *

Arthur had arrived home right before he had to wake up Peter for school. He sighed as he found the food untouched on the plate. He quickly cleaned it up as silently as he could, for Peter was asleep nearby on the couch, the only bed in their house.

Arthur knew that his cooking was horrible, though he was bitter about it. He wished that he were better at being a housekeeper, since that's what they needed badly. Arthur always resented himself for not being able to properly care for his brother, but there was really no one else who could do it.

When his watch showed that it was seven, he walked over to Peter's body and shook him gently. "Wake up, Peter. It's time for school."

Peter stirred and opened his eyes. "Mom…?"

A stab of pain came in Arthur's heart. He had forgotten that these were his mother's words. That was how mother used to wake them up. He had been so used to it that he had started doing it himself.

Peter blinked and realized that it was Arthur. And yes, they were still in this hellhole. Nothing had changed. Arthur's cooking hadn't improved. And worst of all, their father had still deserted them and their mother had died.

With that nice thought in mind, Peter sat up and prepared for school. Both he and Arthur remained silent, wallowing in the sad memories of their parents.

* * *

Sure enough, Alfred found himself to be one of the last people to leave the office. It was 11:00 p.m. and he was just getting to his car. He felt impossibly tired and wasn't sure if he could even make it home in one piece.

He turned off his phone the moment he got into his car and threw it weakly to the passenger seat; if people needed to get in contact with him, too bad for them. Alfred was off for the night.

He loosened his tie and just sat in his car, unmoving. He couldn't even find the strength to put in the keys and start the engine.

_It's at times like this that I need a chauffeur…_

Wit that last thought, Alfred drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Arthur was done dropping his brother off at school, he drove his car to the local taxi company's headquarters and exchanged it for a yellow cab. He had learned to live without much sleep, so he was driving safely.

Arthur pulled out of the company's headquarters with a grim expression and started on his next job. The work never stopped for Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

Alfred woke with a start. He checked his watch and cursed. He had only about three hours until he needed to be back upstairs in his office. He was still way too tired to be driving anywhere, so he decided to hail a cab.

Straightening his tie and rearranging himself, he called for a cab. It was 8:00 and he had to get back by 10:45, since that was when his first meeting was. It would be a close call.

When the cab arrived, Alfred hopped in and said in a very formal voice, "To the Richmond Complexes, please."

The cabdriver's eyes widened at the request, but complied. That was where rich people lived. Well, at least the well off people lived there. People like Arthur dreamed of being there.

Arthur always drove past the area as he got to his job as a bar tender, but he would always attempt ignore it, though in vain. It was the place that he had wanted to live in, since that meant that he had money, which he didn't have at the moment.

But he had learned long ago that dreams meant nothing. Some famous author wrote that famous novel, and Arthur didn't care what novel it was, but he remembered one line specifically: "Now life has killed the dream I dreamed."

So true.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Okay, so the AP US History homework is still unfinished. I had tried to do it, but in vain. I couldn't stop writing! And in the middle of my essay (handwritten, since the teacher was all like, "The AP test is all hand written, so you have to write it so that your hand muscles can get trained!"), I started writing the continuation of this fic. I took that as a sign that this needed to be done. So I set aside my work and took my laptop and started typing.

So you could call this as the love child between me, my computer, and Hetalia (yes, it was an interesting threesome). Hope that you all enjoy it so far!

- Galythia

P.S. This is like... three updates on the same day. I doubt that'll happen all the time, since the school week is starting, but hopefully I can get another chapter up during the week and then another during next weekend. No promises though! I'm just letting you all know that this rapid updating thing probably isn't going to stick. Sorry! I'm just wayyy too busy. But I'll try my best.

And if I don't do anything, poke me! Fly over to Boston, stalk me, and jab your finger into my stomach.

PLEASE REVIEW!!!


	4. Chapter 3

**On Better Terms  
**

Chapter 3

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur:** Why does Alfred have to be the rich one?!

**Alfred:** Because all heroes are paid very well. It's justice!

**Arthur: **Shut up, baka.

**Roderich: **Ah, how sad it is... But it's true. My love never seems to notice...

**Elizaveta:** What was that? You love someone? Oh! Oh! Tell me who it is!

**Roderich: ***sigh*...

**Galythia: **So... *awkward silence*... Muriel makes an appearance in this one! I made that name up for her, since Belgium doesn't have a name... I think. If she does, do tell me. Other than that, on with the show!

* * *

When Arthur dropped Alfred off, he was confronted with a hundred dollar bill as payment.

Alfred smiled apologetically at Arthur. "I'm sorry for giving you such a big note, but I've really got nothing else on me besides hundreds."

Arthur just stared at the note. It was obvious that he had never seen one in his life, let alone hold one.  
But since he was just starting off the day, he didn't quite have enough change for a hundred. He didn't know what to do.

"Sir… It seems that I don't have enough. I only have… forty dollars on me at the moment, since you're my first customer."

Alfred's fare was only $23. That left $37 unaccounted for. Plus, Arthur had to keep some money to give other change with, since he was sure that no one else would want a hundred as _change_.

Alfred thought about it and finally decided. "You give me… Oh, we'll say… twenty dollars. That leaves you with enough to give change to other passengers. And the fifty-seven dollars that is still unaccounted for. Well, what fifty-seven dollars are you talking about?" He smiled brightly. It was almost too bright a smile for Arthur, who couldn't remember the last time he smiled at all.

Alfred got out of the taxi before Arthur could reply. And Alfred cut him off, knowing Arthur was going to protest. "Don't. Give it to someone if you don't want it." He smiled and patted the back of the cab, signaling for Arthur to go.

Dumbfounded, Arthur just automatically put the car into the necessary gear and drove off, unfeeling.

This had been too much. Some random stranger had given him $57?! That was more than he earned had ever earned on one day of cab driving.

Arthur checked his rearview mirror, trying to see if Alfred was still there. But Alfred was already gone.

* * *

Alfred stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water. He needed to wake up.

As he let the water run over his face and body, he slowly lathered himself, thinking about his actions.

_Why did I do that…?_

He had never been one to be that loose with his money, and yet, he had felt that it had been the right decision.  
He could have just as easily gone up stairs, told the driver to wait, and come back down with the correct amount. He _could have_. And yet, he didn't.

Alfred smiled slightly. _I'm becoming a martyr and a hero._ He shook his head to clear it of the thought then finished his shower. He tried to think no more of the matter.

Alfred checked the clock on the wall. He had about an hour before he had to leave. Not that bad… but he still had to prepare the presentation for the meeting.

So Alfred set down to work.

.:ONE HOUR LATER:.

Alfred called for a taxi and went back to the office, this time armed with the proper bills for the trip. He knew that it was unlikely that he would ever meet that driver again, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to or not. It was evident in that man's eyes that he was almost to the end of his light. _If only I could be a hero for those problems too._

Alfred thought of it no more and concentrated on the upcoming meeting.

He set into the building with a large and slow stride, wanting to show his importance to his firm and wanting to feel that also himself.

* * *

Roderich Edelstein sat around in the back waiting for his favorite bartender to arrive.

Roderich worked at the same bar as Arthur, but he was a pianist instead. His beautiful wife, Elizaveta Héderváry, was the cook of the bar, and he often escaped to the back when he wasn't playing, just to see her.

Elizaveta approached just then and offered smiled brightly, offering him a cup of coffee. Roderich smiled and commented on how beautiful she was looking today and gladly accepted the cup. As usual, Elizaveta ran off without even noticing his compliment. Roderich shook his head, already used to this long ago.

_Maybe that's why I love her..._

* * *

Arthur quickly changed into his uniform when he arrived. He had been running late since he had to pick his brother up from school—the one day that he had time to actually do that.

Roderich was up playing the piano at the moment, and everyone else was preparing for the high time that would come that night. After work, men always came here to drink away their sorrows. Perhaps that's why Arthur had been drawn to work here. This way, he could forget about his own troubles as he listened to others'.

Arthur fixed his bow tie and walked out to the bar. He saw some familiar faces, but most of them wouldn't come for another hour at least.

He smiled to the waitress, Muriel, a curious girl from Belgium who didn't particularly stand out much in crowds. Yet, she held the heart of many regulars of this bar.

Arthur then started rearranging the bottles on the shelf to how he liked to order them. He never met the other bartenders here, since bartenders had such long shifts that when their shifts were over, they tried to disappear as quickly as possible. The same went for Arthur. And that's why the bottles were always rearranged on the shelf behind him. The first few times, it had been almost impossible to correct, but now he had settled into a routine that could be done blindfolded.

As the clock struck eight, he started dealing out drinks here and there, enjoying the lax ambiance before the nine o'clock rush.

* * *

Author's Comments:

I'm sorry if it's gotten a little boring in this chapter. I'm just struggling a little with the transition into the actual story. I'm trying to figure out the small nuances of the story. Chapter four is giving me a hell of a time! Anyways, beyond that, there aren't many problems.

I wrote this chapter in English class as I was listening to the teacher drone on and on about how quote citations were supposed to go after he ending quotation mark, but before the period. Honestly, who didn't learn this years ago?

I hope to have the next chapter done soon (and hope that it's better than this crappy chapter also). Thanks for sticking with me this far!

- Galythia


	5. Chapter 4

**On Better Terms  
**

Chapter 4

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Alfred: **Tsk, tsk, tsk. Arthur, you're always late!

**Arthur: **Shouldn't you be speaking for yourself? I'm the one who's working hard.

**Alfred: **Well I'm the well dressed hero, and that's all that really matters in the end.

**Ludwig: **Why do I feel like I'm never going to show up...?

**Feliciano: **Don't worry, Doitsu. I haven't shown up either.

**Galythia: **Sorry guys...I just don't have a need for you yet.

**Ludwig: **I quit...

* * *

Alfred sighed. He couldn't stop thinking about that one driver he had met this morning. The driver had looked at that bill as if it was pure gold. His eyes were so incredulous. Alfred couldn't help but wonder what life that driver led that caused such a reaction.

He felt that he was about to do something he was going to regret. Still, he didn't stop himself from picking up the phone and slowly dialing the taxi company's number.

He had written down the taxi number, not sure why he had been compelled to do that in the first place, but now he would put it to use.

But as the phone rang, Alfred hesitated. Should he hang up and just forget the matter? What was he going to do when he learned the name of the driver? What was there _to do_?

Alfred had no time to think about those questions though, since the operator's voice answered.

"Westwood Taxi. How can I help you?"

"Ah… umm…" Alfred faltered. He didn't even know what he wanted exactly, so how was he supposed to get that across to the operator?

He cleared his throat. "Ah. Yes. This morning, at around eight o'clock, I took a ride from taxi number… three sixty-one." Great. Now that he got the facts out, how would he approach this?

"The driver… he... ah… There's a possible lawsuit involving him, and I would like to reach him without bringing this taxi company into it either. My name is Alfred Jones and I'm a lawyer from Goldman Wilbur and Hedges. Would you mind giving me the name and possibly the address of that diver?"

The woman sounded startled when she replied. "Oh! Yes. Sure. Let's see… He's Arthur Kirkland. He lives on sixty-one Dudley in Cheshire." It was obvious that the woman was terrified for herself and the company. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

Alfred smiled slightly. "No ma'am. I have everything I need. Thank you for your time."

Alfred hung up and interlaced his fingers, leaning back in his chair. He contemplated his next actions while congratulating himself. _Smooth as always, __hero__. _He had to admit that that was some quick thinking on his part.

Now as to what he was going to do next… Well, a plan was building in his mind….

* * *

Arthur had made it home very late, since his bartending job ended at around two in the morning. He was glad to see that Peter was curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

Arthur placed a blanket on Peter and set a small pile of clothes down on the rug next to the couch for himself.

He took off his coat, set his watch alarm for four-thirty, and drifted off to sleep.

.:ABOUT TWO HOURS AND A HALF LATER:.

Arthur woke quickly, having gotten used to it by now. He turned off his alarm before it could wake Peter and rose, quickly donning his clothes and putting his makeshift pillow away.

He prepared a cup of coffee for the day and breakfast for Peter. Breakfast wasn't hard since that was the only meal that Arthur didn't have to cook much for. He would make the all time favorite: bread and cheese. Can't actually get much simpler.

He walked over to Peter to check that the alarm on his watch had been set correctly. Oftentimes, Peter forgot to set it before going to bed. Arthur didn't want a silly thing like that to damage his brother's education.

He kissed Peter lightly on the forehead and smiled slightly, something he rarely ever did, and something he almost _never_ did in front of Peter. "Have a fun day at school, kiddo."

Arthur then set off to his first job of the day: delivering newspapers.

* * *

Alfred arrived at 61 Dudley St. at around midday. He had given enough time for Arthur to wake up and get ready for the day, along with whomever else he might be living with.

But before Alfred even walked to the little door across the street, he had to stop and stare in amazement at the size of the place. It was possibly smaller than his office. That thought was a little hard to grasp.

_Just what sort of person am I dealing with…?_

After Alfred had gotten over the initial shock at the size of the place, he managed to hurry across the street and get to the rickety door.

He searched in vain for a bell, and when he saw none, he just knocked.

No one answered.

He knocked again. And again, no one answered.

After having tried a third time, Alfred just stood there, wondering what to do. He had called in sick this morning since he had been expecting to talk to this Arthur person. But now that Arthur didn't seem to be around, what was he to do?

Alfred could only think to do one thing, and he did just that. Alfred sat down in front of the house, not caring about dirtying his suit, and opened his briefcase.

He would wait until the people that lived here returned, and while he was doing that, he might as well, do some work.

* * *

Author's Comments:

You know what I just realized? Part of the reason that I feel so compelled to update all the time is because I sort of hate it when I'm waiting for something to come out and it just _doesn't_. But now I'm thinking that I'm updating too much. What do you guys think? Maybe a little pause here and there would make for a better experience, or no?

Any comments are highly appreciated! And I'm sorry that this chapter is so short... I like writing short installments rather than really long ones with a giant gap of time in between.

- Galythia

Poll Question:

Any specific characters/character pairings that you guys want to show up in this story?


	6. Chapter 5

**On Better Terms  
**

Chapter 5

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur: **I can't be worried over just $57, can I? I have way more money than that! England is a rich nation!

**Galythia: ***cough* Not really...

**Arthur: **You're such a liar!

**Alfred: **Guys! Guys! Can you believe it? I'm so awesome and heroic that even _Arthur_ couldn't keep his hands off of me. *satisfied smile*

**Arthur: **Galythia...! This is all your fault!

**Galythia: **If the author dies, you know whose fault it is! *runs*

* * *

When Peter arrived at his door, he found a very curious sight. A man in a suit was asleep on his doorstep, holding some sort of paper with a lot of math on it. There was a closed briefcase next to him. He definitely looked like he didn't belong anywhere close to this area.

Peter debated whether or not to wake the man up, or just step past him and enter his house.

Finally, he smiled and poked the man's cheek. "Sir!"

Alfred stirred just a little bit, but he didn't wake up.

Peter pouted but tried again. "Sir! Sir!"

Alfred finally awoke, due to the high-pitched voice yelling at him. "I… Wha…?" He was confused for a second before realizing that he was sitting in front of someone's house.

He quickly got up and dusted himself off, even though his black suit was a little past a simple dusting.

He coughed, tucking his paper back into his briefcase quickly. "Ah. I'm sorry. I must look very weird."

The boy said nothing. All he did was stare at Alfred as he spoke. This made things a lot more difficult for the hero.

Alfred scratched his head sheepishly and said, "I'm looking for a man named Arthur Kirkland. Do you happen to know who he is?"

The little boy's face brightened at the name. "He's my older brother!" Peter laughed, completely past his silence about the stranger. "But… He's not home yet. Do you want to come in?"

Alfred was glad that he had found the right place, and he followed the boy in. On the one hand, he wondered just how polite it was to wait for someone inside his house while only his younger brother was home.  
On the other hand, Alfred was just shocked at the sight he confronted inside. There were barely any pieces of furniture. There was no bedroom that he could see. There were actually only two rooms: a bathroom and a sort of communal room of everything else. In short, it was the one of the sparsest houses he had ever seen.

Then it struck him that this young child lived here. He couldn't possibly be over the age of thirteen, maybe even twelve. And he seemed to be often home alone. That was a little dangerous.

Sitting himself down on the rug since he didn't want to take the couch, he asked, "What time will your brother be home?"

Peter shrugged. "Check the calendar." He was never sure himself when his brother would be home, but the calendar usually gave him some slight idea about whether or not he should wait for his brother's dinner or just go to bed,

Alfred walked over to the calendar that was taped to one of the walls and examined it. Today was Tuesday… His eyes widened when he found the date. The box was written on everywhere! There were so many scribbles of times and activities that he wasn't sure where to look first.  
But upon looking further, he saw that most—actually _all_ of them were jobs of some sort. Did that mean that Arthur Kirkland did this many jobs in a day?

Alfred was incredulous as he walked back to the rug. "Your brother, you said?" Alfred glanced over at the calendar, now viewing it from across the room. He shivered. Every single day was filled like that, even Sunday.

"Why… why does he work so much?" Peter's eyes dulled when Alfred asked that. He looked away, not being able to answer for quite a while.

Alfred saw that he had somehow hurt the child and was about to apologize when Peter finally spoke. "Father… left us… and mother's… dead." The kid looked like he was close to tears.

Alfred debated as to whether or not he should hug Peter. That would be impolite, but did that really matter at the moment?

Eventually, he settled on staying where he was and hoping that the kid got better through space.

And as the silence lengthened, Alfred was given the opportunity to think about the matter.

Two brothers. Alone. Barely enough money to survive on. And here he was, dressed in an expensive Armani suit with a French briefcase at his side. Alfred felt like he was being so rude by entering this household.

Along with that, he was also very alarmed that a person could even manage to live such a low-income life. He couldn't imagine living it himself. Before having even officially met Arthur, Alfred had already grown a lot of respect for him.

Peter started on his homework, still in silence, and Alfred just contemplated the brothers' situation. He pulled out one of the papers from his briefcase, deciding that he would wait until Arthur arrived back home.

* * *

Today was the only day of the week that Arthur didn't have a night job. He had to sleep sometime, and his brother had imposed this rule on him that at least one night of the week, he wouldn't have work. Arthur had to comply.

Arthur took off his hat as he walked in the door, surprised that the lights were still on. Peter was fast asleep on the couch, with a blanket draped over him _already_. Arthur immediately became tense.

Peter was always too careless to fall asleep with the proper covers, so how was this day any different?

Then, when he went to take a closer look, he slipped on the corner of a rug and fell. Arthur tensed, ready for the hard ground, only softened by the rug.

But he was surprised when he actually landed on something _soft_. He laid there for a second, unmoving, and eventually when the shock subsided, he started trying to get up.

He felt around the 'ground,' feeling buttons. _Ground… buttons…_ It was a little obvious that grounds didn't have buttons.

Alfred had woken immediately when Arthur had landed on him. Needless to say, he was startled awake. He tried to shift out from underneath whatever it was, but Arthur straddling him basically pinned him down.

Arthur's hand ran down Alfred's chest, feeling around and trying to figure out just exactly what he had landed on. He only registered slightly that the ground had just shifted out of its own accord.

He specifically remembered putting away the pile of clothing he slept on this morning, so no possibilities came to mind as to why there were buttons on the ground.

Finally, he found the strength to use the hand on the ground to push himself up slightly.

He found himself face to face with a blond, highly flustered face.

Arthur scrambled up, stammering apologies as he did so. He backed to the opposite wall, hand on his chest, and just as equally flustered. His eyes widened as he realized that it was the person that he drove yesterday morning.

"Fifty-seven dollar rich guy!" He yelled that out before he could stop himself.

He blushed and averted his gaze, falling silent immediately. Alfred was still startled and lying half on the ground.

Eventually, Alfred stood up, righted his glasses, and dusted himself off yet again.

He approached Arthur slowly. Arthur didn't retreat, nor did he look up. His heart was beating faster than it ever had for the past ten years, at least.

Alfred extended a hand and smiled his dazzling smile.

Arthur stared blankly at the hand. Alfred dropped his arm after a while.

Alfred tried to mediate the awkward silence. "I'm Alfred Jones, Mr. Kirkland. I… ah… apologize for imposing so suddenly, but I… umm… well…" _Oh crap. I didn't think this far._

Alfred was at a loss for words for a while, and decided to buy time by stating, "I just need to talk to you about some matters…" _Yeah right…_ Alfred didn't even know himself why he was in this stranger's house at ten at night, let alone be able to explain it to Arthur.

Arthur swallowed. "Are you a lawyer?" His voice sounded pained.

Alfred nodded, though he cocked his head, confused. "… Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

Arthur slowly slumped down to the ground, head cradled in his hands. "Oh dear God…" Arthur didn't want to cry, but he sure felt like doing so.

Alfred dropped down to Arthur's level, kneeling down on one knee. He hesitantly reached out a hand, but dropped it right before touching Arthur's shoulder.

"Did I say something wrong…?"

Arthur bit back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He finally managed to murmur, his voice strained, "I… I don't need you right now."

Alfred was beyond confused. Didn't need him? Arthur couldn't even know what Alfred was here for—since if he did, Alfred wanted an explanation himself—so how could he say that he didn't need Alfred?

"Umm… excuse me?"

Arthur's tone now turned bitter. "The taxi company called me…" He looked up squarely at Alfred, the moisture visible in his eyes. "What the fuck did I do that a lawyer like you needs to come?!" He felt very cornered.

"Look. I don't want you here. I don't need you here. But since you're here, I'll cooperate. Just don't take more money from me than needed. You can have your fifty seven dollars back if it suits your fancy!" It was evident that Arthur was resigned to the cruelty of fate. He pulled out some crumpled bills from his pocket and started counting them.

Alfred had been trying to interrupt him this whole time. It finally dawned on him what Arthur was talking about. Alfred reached out with both hands and placed them on Arthur's, effectively stopping Arthur from continuing his enumeration.

"Ha… ha…"

Arthur looked up, confused and subconsciously blushing from the contact. However, he didn't have enough of a mind to pull away from Alfred's warm hands. "What. You think my misery is a laughing matter?" Arthur was infuriated, to say the least.

Alfred put his hands up defensively. "No, no! It just clicked in my mind, that's all. You think I'm here to discuss a lawsuit, right?"

Arthur looked at Alfred as if that was a trick question. He was trying very hard to find the double meaning in Alfred's words, but to no avail.

When he didn't reply, Alfred picked up the conversation, "I'm not here about any lawsuit."

Arthur looked at Alfred, incredulous and very disbelieving. He remembered the exact moment when he had gotten the call this morning. It was right after he had finished his Walgreens day shift.

He had been surprised that his superintendent at the taxi headquarters was calling him on a day that he had off, but he had answered nonetheless.

The words that had come out of his superintendent's mouth were the last thing that he had expected.

He was silent or a moment before being able to reply a garbled "Yeah, I'll be sure to keep a lookout for him…" Then he hung up, slowly lowering his phone and putting it back in his pocket.

He couldn't for the life of him remember what it was that he had done. He had always thought that he had abided by traffic laws and everything.

But as he walked, he remembered that the superintendent had mentioned something about a customer the previous morning.

He had almost stopped in the middle of crossing a road as he remembered the only character that stood out to him that morning. _Fifty seven dollars…_ If it was that guy, and he was suing over that $57, Arthur would be pissed beyond compare.

And just that thought had kept him going the rest of the day...

And now the man was standing in front of him, in the flesh—and very handsome—and he was saying that there was no lawsuit? Arthur had gotten worked up for nothing!

But before Arthur believed Alfred's words completely, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Wait a second… If you're not here to talk about a lawsuit, then what _are_ you here for?"

Alfred knew that this question would have come eventually, but he hadn't been thinking about it.

"I… uh… Well, that's a good question actually. How about we discuss it over tea?" _That's it... Smile and buy some time._

Arthur looked over the smiling blond suspiciously, eventually sighing. That smile was too bright to even exist in the world. It was apparent that this man in front of him—Alfred, was it?—had never seen a poor day in his life. How lucky.

But Arthur was always partial to tea himself, and went off to prepare a pot, not saying a single word.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Whew! This is one of the longer chapters (I think). It feels good to get that out though. The story's finally starting! Hooray! Or "Eugepae!" as the Rome-jii-chan would say it.

I hope that you all are enjoying it so far! I've been getting some wonderful comments and I love every single one of them! You all make me very happy.

That being said, I won't post again until I have at least seven reviews! Hey, wait a second! I've already had that much since the _second chapter_. You all are awesome. xD (I hate it when authors actually do that. As in put review deadlines in before they post. It's like threatening your audience).

Hope to post again soon!

- Galythia

P.S. Apologies for the language, but I felt that it was appropriate placement. Tell me if you have any issues with it.


	7. Chapter 6

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 6

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur: **Why do I seem like such a moody brat all of a sudden...?

**Alfred: **You've finally realized it!

**Arthur: **Oh shut up, you twat!

**Russia: ***wielding pipe* Oh hush, you guys...

* * *

Arthur sat down on the ground across from Alfred, setting the pot down on the precarious stack of books. He poured some into a chipped cup and handed it to Alfred, then pouring some for himself.

He sipped the tea silently, waiting for Alfred's explanation.

Alfred stared down at the cup. He had never seen something so bashed up in his life. There were cracks running along the edge and a multitude of places where the cup had been chipped by time. The ornate golden art around the outer edge was almost all gone, and inside was the brownish tinge that many objects took on after years and years of usage.

Still, not wanting to seem rude, he drank.

Alfred eventually started into an explanation out of pure need for the awkward silence to go away. Arthur didn't seem to mind it, but Alfred found it very disagreeable.

"I… Yesterday morning… umm… I was aware that the… The raccoons are attacking your house! And umm… There are pixies in it too, somewhere… And… yeah…" _What the hell are you talking about?!_ Alfred was making it worse and worse. He eventually just trailed off and sat in silence, wondering just how to save himself.

And yet, Arthur didn't look at him as if he was crazy. "Pixies, you say?" Arthur's expression seemed distant, as if he was remembering something long ago. "They don't sound all that bad. They're quite friendly actually, if you get on their good side."

Now it was Alfred's turn to be weirded out, and weirded out he was.

"What was that? You talk as if you know them personally."

Arthur nodded. "I knew them once upon a time. Long ago… But they left me when… Ah, never mind!" He didn't want to mention his mother, especially to a stranger who probably didn't care. "But are there raccoons and pixies attacking my house?"

Arthur was slightly confused about that. The pixies and all other things magical had left him when he was nineteen. The exact day that his mother died, his imagination and hopes died too. Any spark of joy he had in him was virtually wiped out.

Alfred tried to fix his stupid statement. "Ah! No… What I meant was that… umm… I want you to be my chauffeur!" _Okay. Now you've officially done it. Great job!_ Alfred didn't like it. Even his own conscience was being sarcastic.

Arthur almost dropped his teacup. Chauffeur? Did he hear that right? And what did that have to do with raccoons and pixies in the first place? Arthur couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that the fairies and unicorns weren't coming back to him. "Pardon?"

Alfred figured that since he had said it, he might as well go with it. "I… I want you to be my chauffeur. You know, drive me around and stuff." He fidgeted with his teacup sheepishly, not sure what to do.

The idea didn't sound all that bad to Alfred, actually. Though he wasn't sure if that had anything to do with why his subconscious and dragged him here. All he knew was that he couldn't help but be drawn to Arthur, and he didn't know why. Perhaps it was because Arthur was living such a destitute lifestyle that he wanted to be the hero and pluck Arthur out of it. Or maybe Alfred just wanted Arthur to earn those fifty-seven dollars. Either way, he wanted to be close to Arthur, and having Arthur be the chauffeur would get that part down. He would get to see Arthur at least twice every day.

But Arthur looked unsure about it. He had just met this person yesterday, after all. "Out of all the people you could have taken… why me?" He had to scope out the whole situation before accepting. One wrong move and things could get even worse for him and Peter.

Alfred struggled with his reply. "Well… Umm… You see… I like your green eyes." _Brilliant reason…_ Alfred felt like his conscience hated him at the moment.

Arthur raised one thick eyebrow questioningly. He was getting even more suspicious. "My eyes? Don't you think that's a bit… unrelated?"

Alfred stuck by his word. Trying to take it back would only serve to make it worse, he thought. "No! It's not! Eyes are vital to a person's employee choice." He crossed his arms defensively.

Arthur sighed. He didn't have time for chitchat about eyes. He had to get some sleep. He finished his tea and stood up. "Look, not everyone has time like you do. I need to get some rest. I have many jobs to get to tomorrow. I frankly don't have time to add another one to my list of work." He turned and muttered to himself, "Though I'd like to…" Alfred heard nonetheless.

Alfred stood up himself when Arthur did, having only drank two sips of his tea, and tried to help Arthur clean up. Arthur took the pot and his cup from him, refusing to let him help.

"As much as I don't need it, you're my guest, so sit back down."

Alfred tried to argue, but in the end, Arthur's irritated expression convinced him that arguing wasn't the best idea.

Alfred sat down on the worn out rug and leaned back against the arm of the couch, feeling the roughness of a cheap couch scratch his neck. He waited for Arthur to finish.

When Arthur washed all the dishes, he walked over and leaned against the dirty wall opposite of Alfred.

Before he could say anything, Alfred came up with a brilliant idea. "How much do you get paid every week?"

Arthur was alarmed. He thought this a highly personal question and sniffed defensively. He was very embarrassed about his low wages, despite working so much.

"I… Why would you care anyways?"

Alfred smiled his charming smile once again and stated plainly, "I'll beat whatever it is. Then you can drop those jobs and devote your time to driving me around!"

Arthur winced at how bright the grin was. He had lost the ability to smile long ago and didn't see himself gaining it back any time soon.

But he was surprised by what Alfred had said, and was at a loss for words for quite a bit. Finally, he murmured very softly, "I… get paid $690 a week…" He blushed. It had taken a lot for him to reveal that, not that Alfred knew.

Alfred's eyes widened in surprise. He had seen the hours that Arthur worked, and that was all that Arthur got paid? "That's… that's…" Alfred had always done poorly at math, and this situation was no different.

"About six dollars an hour," Arthur answered for him, his voice even quieter. Arthur, on the other hand, had had a good education. He had gone all the way up to freshman year in college, majoring in politics and minoring in mathematics. But since he didn't finish college, he didn't have a good enough resume to get himself a decent job.

Alfred nodded, not at all embarrassed about his mathematical inabilities. He moved on quickly. "Wow! $690, you said? That's lower than I get paid an hour!" He laughed.

Arthur's eyes roared. It had taken a lot of courage from him to reveal his wage to Alfred, and even as he did it, he was doing it with great uncertainty. He had been wary, wary of this exact reaction that he was receiving. "Look, if you're going to ridicule me, then _get out_!" Arthur pointed emphatically at the door.

Alfred wiped a tear from his eye and smiled. "Sorry, sorry. I just found it a little ridiculous."

Arthur's arm didn't lower, signifying to Alfred that he wasn't making things better.

Alfred frowned. "What? I just found it weird…" Arthur's expression didn't change, save for an angry twitch.

Alfred put his hands up defensively and tried to redeem himself. "I can pay you more than that. Definitely."

Arthur's arm lowered just a little. Alfred smiled, knowing that it was working. Money was very important to the Kirkland family, as he now saw.

Alfred continued, "You won't have to work that many jobs anymore, your brother will have a better education, and you could probably get a new space to live in!" To emphasize his statement, he gave a childish thumbs up to Arthur.

Arthur wasn't sure what to think. He did lower his arm though. "I… I don't know." He still was partly suspicious that this was all a trap. _Eyes aren't any reason to hire someone…_

Uneasy, he muttered, "I'll think about it."

Alfred jumped up happily, now completely convinced that his impromptu idea had been brilliant! He vigorously shook hands with Arthur and beamed. Arthur shied away from the brightness of the smile.

Alfred was overjoyed. "Great! Give me a call if you decide!" He pressed a business card into Arthur's hand and backed off, still smiling.

He picked up his briefcase and waved a quick goodbye at Arthur before slipping on his shoes and disappearing out the door. He didn't even give a chance for Arthur to reply.

Arthur studied the business card for quite a bit before glancing at his watch. _12:30 a.m._ How wonderful. They had been going at it for about two and a half hours. It had cut dearly into his sleeping time.

Arthur set the card aside and prepared his makeshift bed.

Once he was finished and lying down, he studied the card one last time. Setting it down, he reached over and turned off the lamp, deciding to get some rest. He had a job to agree to tomorrow, after all.

* * *

Author's Comments:

So this is the second longest chapter. It's one giant block too! One time frame, same characters, etc. I was half conscious when I wrote some of this chapter, and I'm sure that showed when you guys read through it.

I tried to improve it a little bit. I made a conscious effort to describe their surroundings more, and to dwell a bit more on actions. Please tell me if that made at all a difference, or if there's anything I can improve.  
That being said... comment! (Pwease? 3) Since I told some of you that this chapter would come out on Friday... change that to the next chapter! (Though I suspect that the next chapter will be posted tomorrow, if not tonight...)

- Galythia


	8. Chapter 7

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 7

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur: **Ha. You're anxious all because of _me_.

**Alfred: **I'm just anxious because I'm hungry. Galythia never said that it was because of you!

**Berwald:** Br'k 'it 'p...

**Francis: **I lost? Ah well, that means that I still have... Romano!

**Romano:** Get away from me! You and I were enemies for both wars and it's going to _stay that way_.

**Kiku: **Romano. Just say something vague, like, "I'll annihilate you," or "I'll consider it," and of course, it has to mean no. Then Francis will stay away, I'm sure.

**Francis: **Kiku-kun~ At least, I think that's how you Japanese say it. Anyways, I now know your secret! Come with me tonight?

**Kiku: ***clears his throat, glancing at Romano emphatically* I'll consider it.

* * *

Arthur had woken up late. He scrambled around the house trying to get ready, turning into a master of multitasking for the hour he had before his first job.

Arthur didn't even have time to check Peter's watch. He hoped that the kid had remembered to do it last night as he rushed out the door.

Arthur barely made it in time to the taxi company. He was going to do this job and a couple of other jobs before calling in sick for the rest, as much as he hated to do that. Now that he had decided on that, if Alfred pulled his end of the deal out, then Arthur would be angrier than he had been in years.

Alfred sighed as he got to the office that morning. He plopped himself down on his large black swivel chair. He ran his hand absentmindedly up and down the relatively new leather as he held the schedule of the day with his other hand.

Today, he had that case with Bernese Ox or something, and he had to defend that woman. This was troubling, since he could barely even focus on the sheet. His mind was still wrapped around last night.

Throughout the day, Arthur rushed from job to job, bringing him from one end of the city to the other. He hadn't eaten at all last night or this morning, so needless to say, he was hungry.

He found himself spacing off quite a bit during the day, saving himself just in time before getting into trouble. Though he didn't want to think much of it, he was looking forward quite a bit to seeing Alfred and accepting that job proposal. He really could find nothing wrong with it save the fact that Alfred was a sketchy persona in general. What type of person shows up at the house of their taxi driver on false pretenses of some lawsuit and ends up hiring him as a chauffeur. The whole situation seemed quite suspicious.

Nonetheless, Arthur knew that he needed the break that Alfred was offering. He knew that it would lead to a better income for him, thereby getting Peter a better education and a better life in general.

Just because of that, he had squared his mind on acceptance.

* * *

"Mr. Francis Bonnefoy. My client says that you touched her improperly and refused to stop when she said to do so. Is that true?"

Francis smiled and murmured, "She kept saying 'No,' and I thought zat I was just touching ze wrong places, and so naturally, I changed my approach."

Alfred's eyes sparkled in triumph when he saw the judge—a woman—look alarmed at Francis's reply.

He turned to the judge and addressed the people. "Your Honor, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I rest my case." He then retreated back to the table, but remained standing.

Berwald had seen that it was a losing battle from the beginning, but this Francis guy paid a lot, so who was he to complain? And yet, it was frustrating that his client was so one-track minded. All that Francis could seem to think about were people—not always women—and sexual harassment. Berwald shivered. He had almost become a victim himself.

The judge made the decision that a restraining order be put on Francis immediately. Francis didn't even pout. He just nodded and smiled flirtatiously at the judge, raising his eyebrows suggestively. The judge looked very taken aback and exited to the judge's quarters immediately after the court was dismissed.

Francis wasn't put off by the rejection. It just made the chase more fun for him.

Alfred was just glad to be out of the place. He now had nothing else to do but paperwork. He had told Arthur that Arthur could think it over, but he hoped that Arthur would think it over fast.

When Alfred walked back into his office, he plopped himself down on the large chair with an exasperated sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and sat idly for a while before forcing himself to get to work, as little as he actually wanted to. Seeing Arthur's hard work had inspired him to do just a tad bit more. A tad bit.

* * *

Arthur looked up at the sparkling building, wide-eyed. He glanced to his left and right, just to make sure that he was in the right place. The place that he was in was the dead center of the city. He had rarely ever stopped here, though he had passed the area many times when getting from one job to another.

He couldn't help but just gape in awe at the skyscraper. There was a cobblestone drive up area, complete with an ornate water fountain. The doors were so clean that he would have probably walked right into them had there not been a handle in front of him.

When he got inside, he noticed how his own manner of dress seemed so out of place. He had tried to dress in his best clothing, but that was nowhere close to what the people around him wore. There was only black and white around him. Arthur was wearing a dark green jacket that was a little too big for him. He wore dark jeans and very worn out sneakers. He had on the stereotypical cabdriver hat and a white t-shirt. He blushed, highly embarrassed as to how he was dressed.

He walked up to the front desk. The woman sitting there glanced over him as if he was followed by a troupe of unicorns. That just made Arthur fidget more as he asked, "I'm here to see Mr. Jones. Is… Is he available?"

The woman obviously didn't believe him.

Arthur waited for a bit, but the woman didn't do anything; she just stared at him, almost as if saying, _oh really._ Arthur sighed and showed her the business card, hoping that it helped his chances of getting in. He still wasn't even sure that he was in the right building.

The woman glanced over the card and reluctantly picked up the phone. Arthur waited.

"Yes, Mr. Jones? There's umm… a man here to see you. His name is…"

"Ah! Arthur. Arthur Kirkland," Arthur filled in for her.

"A man named Arthur Kirkland is here to see you." The woman immediately was overcome with an expression of surprise. She hung up. Apparently, the reaction that she had gotten was not only what she didn't expect, but also quite out of the ordinary in general.

She motioned behind her to the elevators and spoke in a well-rehearsed tone, "Use the elevators to the left. He's on floor seventeen, in room seventy-six."

Arthur nodded and swiftly made his way over to the elevator, earning many stares from the passersby as he waited for the elevator to arrive.

_That idiot better not back out…_

_

* * *

_

Alfred glared at the phone when he heard it ring. He had half a mind to not even pick it up. Why should he? It was mostly just another business call. Maybe if he let it ring through, they would think that he was out of his office.

But in the end, he picked it up anyways and answered in a slightly annoyed voice, "Hello?"

"Yes, Mr. Jones? There's umm… a man here to see you. His name is… A man named Arthur Kirkland is here to see you."

Alfred's eyes widened in surprise. This was a lot faster than he had expected. "Yes! Hurrah! Allow him up! Please!" Alfred then slammed the phone down overzealously and almost knocked over his cup of coffee. He was just too gleeful knowing that Arthur was coming to see him.

He had been thinking about Arthur the whole day, even if he didn't want to. He didn't quite understand why himself, and occasionally he found it a little annoying, but most of the time, it was just plain distracting.

He hoped that this visit—and possibly an acceptance of his job offer—would get his mind off of Arthur and back to work.

* * *

Arthur stood outside the door, his hand resting just above the knob. _This is it._ This was the final frontier. If he entered now, there really was no return. He had to make sure that his decision was final, and that it was the correct one.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. _Let's get this over with…_ He opened the door cautiously and entered, finding Alfred standing behind his desk, smiling as brightly as always at the door. Alfred was exuding pure excitement, his eyes shining.

Arthur considered backing back out of the door and just walking away.

Arthur stayed nonetheless and closed the door slowly behind him. He walked cautiously forward. Alfred's smile never faltered.

"Are you here to accept?" Alfred was very obviously animated about Arthur's arrival. It was almost too much for Arthur.

Arthur smiled uneasily and pointed to a chair. "Can I… sit down?" He had been running around all day and was quite tired, as he usually was, but _someone_ especially had cut into his sleeping time last night, and so he only saw it right that he could rest a little now.

Alfred blushed slightly, but nodded. "Sorry. Sure! Forgot my manners for a second."

Arthur took a seat and leaned back, letting out a long sigh. The cushioning of the chair threatened to envelop him and he felt himself sinking down ever so slowly. He was going to get the most out of this experience.

Alfred stared at Arthur until he felt quite uncomfortable under the unchanging gaze. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Yeah… So what would my salary be? You said that you could beat my six ninety a week payment, which, by the way, is around $2,990 a month. But I need a number…" _That's right… Play hard to get._ In actuality, Arthur felt very compelled to accept the job. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. All he would have to do was drive around, right? He would be getting better wages, possibly a better home, better clothing, and most important of all, generally better living conditions for both himself and Peter. How could the offer get any better?

Alfred ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "Umm… Well, you see… I haven't really thought about that…" An awkward silence ensued, in which Arthur stared blankly at Alfred, waiting for him to continue. "How about… you name an amount?"

Arthur raised one caterpillar-like eyebrow disbelievingly.

Alfred smiled widely. "No! I'm serious!"

Arthur had never had this offer before, though he had gotten questions like, "What do you think your salary _should_ be?" and all that, and the manager would always decrease it by half before agreeing. It happened to him all too often. And that's why Arthur was going to answer this question with twice the amount that he would be happy with.

He looked disinterestedly at his fingernails and mused, "Hm. I don't know. Say… $6,000 a month?"

Alfred looked at Arthur as if he had two heads. "_What was that?_" Alfred wasn't sure that he had heard that right. That was a lower wage than a lower-middle class person made! How could Arthur be requesting so _little_?

Arthur, on the other hand, thought that Alfred's reaction was like the usual reaction he got from all his previous managers. They had all stared at him as if he was insane, then they lowered the number and asked him if it was okay. And that wasn't even a question, since it was implied that if he _didn't _accept, they had plenty of other people who wanted the job.

Arthur sighed. "I said $6,000 a month…" He was resigned, ready for Alfred to lower the number any moment.

But Arthur was very annoyed when Alfred laughed. Was Alfred making fun of him? That ticked Arthur off more than anything else could have at the moment.

Alfred had to wipe away the tears in his eyes before replying, "Hmm…" Arthur tensed. _Here it comes_. "That seems a bit little, don't you think? How about $7,000 a month?"

Arthur was at a loss for words. His eyes widened and just openly stared at Alfred. "Pardon?"

Alfred nodded, glad with his decision. "Yep! $7,000 a month. I like it." But he looked at Arthur's expression and added, "But if that's too much, I'll lower it… Though I've never heard of something being _too much_ before…" His eyebrows creased in slight confusion.

Arthur took a while to respond. He shook himself out of it and, for the first time in a while, actually smiled a little. "No! That's great! I was expecting…" Arthur stopped himself. He had too much pride to admit to Alfred what had been going through his mind. "That's very well, Mr. Jones," he said in his business voice.

Alfred smiled, a little irked by the sudden change in demeanor. He was involuntarily pulled into being more formal himself. He sat up straighter and placed his hands, neatly folded, on the table. "Then it's decided. Your job starts tomorrow. Show up at this address," Alfred handed Arthur a pre-written slip, "At eight. I'm sure that that isn't a hard time for you to manage."

Arthur stood up, sensing that the meeting was over. He was a little put off by Alfred's sudden change in character, not realizing that he had caused it himself. "Well, then… I take my leave." He bowed respectfully and turned.

Alfred reached his hand out, about to say one last thing, but dropped it last second. Arthur walked out the door without a word or even one small turn back.

Alfred ran a hand through his hair. He was glad about the job acceptance, but for some reason, he found himself thinking even more about Arthur now that the job started the next day. He felt even more anxious about it all. And it all confused him very much.

* * *

Author's Comments:

I feel so tired right now... I just want to sleep... But too bad I have so much homework to do... *sigh*

I'm sorry that it took longer for this update than my updates before, but school's been an *ss. But it's the weekend, so I hope that at least something can be accomplished. Maybe I'll get one or two other chapters up.

On a side note, the story's finally moving along! We get a couple of days with Arthur as a driver, then... well, you'll just have to wait. ;P

- Galythia


	9. Chapter 8

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 8

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Feliciano: **Nihon, Nihon. Why are you half naked with your hair all messy?

**Kiku: **Apparently French people don't understand that "I'll consider it" means no...

**Francis: **Oh Kiku-kun!

**Kiku: **Mataku... *runs off, sword at the ready*

**Arthur: ***glaring at Galythia* Why does it seem like I'm in love with that git?!

**Galythia: **Hehe... That's what this fic is about, honey. Though you aren't quite in love... yet... :P

**Arthur: **And I'll never be! He's too much of an idiot! And he does stupid things...!

**Matthew: ***walking in, holding Kumajirou*

**Arthur: ***grabs Matthew to make his point* See?! He's now carrying around some animal. It's just not humane... *shiver*

* * *

Arthur was at a loss as to how he should dress. He checked his watch. It was six in the morning. He had a little time to spare, but he wasn't sure if that was enough to find a suitable outfit.

Didn't chauffeurs wear black and white outfits? Arthur had nothing formal of the sort, and he was quite sure that he never owned any such clothing in his whole life.

"Uh… Arthur…?"

Arthur turned around. Peter had just woken up and was lying around on the couch. Arthur smiled.

"Good morning."

Peter brightened up upon hearing his brother's voice. "Arthur! It really is you… But why are you home?"

Arthur finished buttoning up his white shirt as he walked over to the crimson colored couch. "I got a new job yesterday." He smiled as he sat down next to his younger brother's feet.

Peter looked confused for only a moment before it dawned on him. "Does it have to do with that handsome lawyer?"

Arthur blushed a little. _Handsome? Well, I guess…_

Peter asked again when his older brother didn't answer.

"Oh! Ah, yes. He offered me a much better paying job as a chauffeur. That means that I'll have more time to hang around with you!" He ruffled his younger brother's hair playfully.

Peter swatted the hand away, but he was smiling himself.

"Heh. Maybe you can finally get some practice cooking then," Peter commented only half jokingly.

Arthur, playfully annoyed, stood up and huffed. "If you don't like my cooking so much, then maybe you should grow up and learn how to cook yourself." He crossed his arms, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Peter laughed excitedly. "Does that mean we get a better house?"

Arthur couldn't deny him anything. "Yeah. I'll get us a better house. Just wait a little, 'kay?"

Peter nodded, smiling like a child in a candy store.

Arthur went off to finish his preparations. He ended up wearing a white button up shirt and jeans. That was as formal as his outfits ever got. He didn't even have a tie to his name, and his white shirt was from his bartending outfit. He would have worn the pants too, but he figured that it would have looked a little out of place for a bartender to be driving someone around.

It was six thirty when he finished. Arthur even had time to drive his little brother to school, even though Peter would arrive quite early. Both Arthur and Peter were liking this new arrangement more and more.

As Arthur pulled away from Peter's school, he thought about the luck he had. Throughout his life, he had always felt like he had the best luck, but now maybe fate took pity on him. Perhaps fate wasn't so bad a person after all.

Arthur also had kept a couple of his old jobs, just to earn some extra cash. Even though $7,000 a month was plenty in his eyes, it was still lower than the average yearly income of a middle class person. He would need some more money if he ever expected to change things by much.

Arthur pulled up to the house that he knew was Alfred's. He recognized it from his taxi drive—the taxi drive that started this whole deal.

Arthur wasn't sure if he was just supposed to sit in the driveway and wait, or if he was supposed to go and knock to signify that was there. In the end, he found himself walking up the winding garden path to the door. The flowers that lined the path were all in full bloom, even though it was the fall. They probably were very particular flowers, and Arthur had never seen any of them before in his life.

He rang the bell on the door and waited, not sure if he had done the right thing. He was about to turn and walk back to the car when Alfred opened the door. He had on as bright a smile as ever, and his face was flushed and he was breathing hard.

"Sorry! I had stayed up to do some work last night, and I forgot to set my alarm. So…" he blushed a little. "I woke up late."

Arthur didn't really know what to reply. What was a person supposed to say to his employer when his employer was like that?

Alfred picked up the conversation without dropping a stitch. "Come on in! You're early."

Arthur was surprised at being invited in. He was already in awe about the outside of the house. He was left to wonder just what possibilities of grandeur the inside of the house held. And now he got the chance to find out.

He really wanted to accept, but he didn't want to seem overly eager, for that would be unmannerly. "Ah. Sure." He walked in and closed the door behind him.

He took off his shoes before anything else and put them on the shoe rack.

Then he finally had a chance to look around, and what he saw was better than he could ever have imagined. For one, there was a chandelier in the middle of the hallway. There was light everywhere, and the walls were lined with art. Arthur approached a painting. _Looks like a Degas…_ His eyes widened. _It is a Degas!_ That only made him wonder what other treasures this house beheld. If there was a Degas in the hallway, what would be hanging around in the important rooms like the living room and such?

His feet felt cold as he scuffled along the polished hardwood floor. He resisted the urge to trail his hands along the off white walls in wonderment. This house was way to large for one person. Unless, of course, Alfred didn't live by himself.

Alfred led Arthur to the spacious living room and bid him to sit. Alfred said that he needed to get a couple last things together.

Arthur felt a little awkward just sitting in the middle of his employer's living room, so he occupied himself with observing the style of Alfred's house.

The first thing he noticed about the general décor was how grand it was. It was obvious that whoever lived in this house had a lot of money at their disposal. The kitchen had two ovens and two sinks, with a giant island in the middle. The living room had all the gaming platforms that Arthur had heard of, and some that he had never seen before in his life. There were hallways everywhere, leading off to unknown, but probably equally spacious areas of the house. And most of all, there was a grand winding staircase at the end of the main hallway.

Arthur had taken a quick glance up as he passed it, and he was sure that it was more than four floors.

Arthur shuddered. How someone could even have this much money was beyond him. And what a stroke of luck it was that he had found employment with this person. But part of it also annoyed him. This person had so much money, and they wasted it on decorations like a golden edging on the walls, rather than put it to better use, like providing food for the needy? It was a little nettlesome to think that Arthur wished for a little money just to have one floor of mediocre living space, while Alfred had at least four floors and all this room to his expense. _He better be living with someone else…_ If Alfred lived in this place alone, Arthur would be quite agitated. All this money was put to waste.

But then again, living in such a big house like this on one's own must be so lonely. Arthur could recount multiple times when Peter and him just sat around in companionable silence, doing nothing by enjoying the other's company. Arthur knew that he wouldn't have been able to find so much resolve in his life if he had been completely alone. Peter had provided him with a purpose to go on.

With that thought, instead of being agitated about the possibility of Alfred living here alone, he was more pitying.

But the rest of his thoughts were interrupted when Alfred returned, pulling along a trolley of suits.

Arthur looked up, curious, and waited for Alfred to explain.

"Stand up!" Alfred smiled warmly and Arthur did as he was bid, a curious expression still written all over his face.

Alfred stepped aside to show the rack, smiling a little sheepishly. "I had forgotten to ask you before about your size, so I got all of these to prepare for today." His smile brightened a little. "You can't really wear that as a chauffeur," Alfred said, gesturing to Arthur's outfit.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, though he was getting less and less surprised at the extent of Alfred's wealth. He looked around. "Umm… Where's the changing room?" Surely this large house had something like a bathroom, or at least a walking closet where this rack came from.

Alfred motioned to a door on the side of the left hall and followed Arthur with the rack as he went.

Arthur opened the door, wondering just how many times he'd have to run in and out of that room to change suits and get another one. But his fears were void. The room was probably bigger than his current house was, and it was just a guest bathroom. It didn't even have a bathtub. And there was a T.V. in there too? Arthur rolled his eyes. He was getting more and more annoyed with the show of wealth. _And it's wasted… He doesn't seem to live with anyone… What a sad existence._

After a couple of tries, Arthur walked out with a fitting suit. It felt lighter than he expected, and he knew for sure that he had never worn anything so expensive in his life.

As Arthur walked out, Alfred was stunned. The person before him was undeniably handsome. Very much so. Alfred was actually quite amazed when he remembered that this person was his _driver_. Who in the history of the world ever had such a model as a _driver_? It was unheard of.

"You… you look wonderful," Alfred commented.

Arthur wasn't sure what to reply. He thought that he looked quite good himself, though Alfred's comment sounded a little odd. Was it forced or something? Had he done something wrong in putting it on? Was there a missing piece?

Arthur looked expectantly at Alfred, though all Alfred did was smile even brighter than usual and exclaim, "All righty! Let's go!" Alfred had recovered quickly from his moment of amazed shock.

* * *

The day passed by quickly, and so did the next. A month passed, then another, and soon they settled into a routine. Arthur drove Alfred around almost constantly, since Alfred's work never seemed to remain in the office. Arthur had hoped that he could have used the time that Alfred was at work to do another job, but he simply didn't see that as possible.

When Alfred got in the car to finally go home at six at night, on a Friday evening, he was ready with a proposition. "Hey, to celebrate, how about I treat you and Peter to some dinner?" Arthur was surprised, as he always was whenever Alfred opened his mouth, but thought about it. It would be good for Peter to finally taste something other than his brother's food. Arthur himself had to admit that his food wasn't the _best_, though he never would admit that it wasn't edible.

"If… If it's all right, then sure. I'm sure Peter would love it. So does that mean that I should drive home to pick Peter up?"

Alfred nodded.

As they drove, a thought reappeared in Arthur's mind. "Hey, Mr. Jones—"

"Call me Alfred. Please. I hate formalities." In truth, Alfred didn't dislike formalities. He actually was annoyed when people addressed him too familiarly, since then they would be trying currying some favor with him for some reason or other. But with Arthur, it was a different story. It sent shivers down his spine whenever he heard that beautiful voice say the abominable words: "Mr. Jones." He just couldn't take it for some reason unbeknownst to him. This was the first time that he had brought up the issue though, even if for a month he had been dealing with "Mr. Jones" constantly.

"All right…" Arthur wasn't used to being so informal with anyone but Peter, let alone his relatively new and vastly rich employer. It seemed out of place, but he had too much experience with work to disobey. "Al… A-Alfred," Arthur struggled, though he shouldn't have, since his question was so informal anyways, "Do you live alone in that grand house?" He blushed. "P-pardon for my informality."

Alfred chuckled, "It's all right. And yes, I do live alone." His eyes gleamed. "Any specific reason why you're asking?"

Arthur caught the gleam in his rearview mirror, but it disappeared so quickly that he wasn't sure if he had just imagined it. _And anyways, why would he be looking so mischievous?_ Arthur dismissed the thought and replied, "I just figured that it was quite lonely to live in such an immense house on one's own." It had slipped out before he could stop it. He had never meant to reveal that thought. It was far too informal, even for their current relationship's standards. It was only two months into the employment anyways, and only two months and couple of days since they had met.

Alfred's eyes grew distant for just a fraction of a second. "It is quite lonely once in a while, but things have changed recently."

Arthur was surprised. "Oh?" he couldn't help replying. _Finally found a girl?_ Something pulled at his heart, though he wasn't sure what. The thought just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Alfred smiled, completely oblivious to how Arthur felt. "She's one hell of a woman, I must say. Her name's Yekaterina Braginskaya." Alfred's eyes twinkled fondly.

Arthur, on the other hand, almost stopped the car. He panicked for just a moment. How many women were there that were named Yekaterina, and with Braginskaya as a last name? Arthur only knew of one, and that person was the elder sister of one man he had a deep history with: Ivan Braginski.

Alfred noticed the change in expression on his driver's face and asked in concern, "Arthur? Are you all right?"

Arthur swallowed but nodded that he was okay. "Yeah. Don't worry. Some guy just cut me off. Glad that I drive well enough for you not to have noticed," he smiled slightly, giving off the proud aura that would accompany that statement had it been true.

But Arthur was feeling anything but pride at the moment. He was just at a loss. Who knew that the world was so small? His employer was now dating the elder sister of his ex-husband. How nice.

"Oh, and Alfred? Don't say anything about me to your woman! You know, they all go for the drivers in the end. If she found out…" he smirked. He knew that he had covered the real reason well.

Alfred laughed loudly and nodded, all in good fun.

Arthur wished so much that his words were true, that he really was ignorant about it all, that he didn't know Yekaterina. It brought back too many painful memories, just like the clear blue sky.

* * *

Author's Comments:

As promised, here is the latest chapter! I pushed off all my other work in my endeavor to get this out! I can't break my promises if I said that there was going to be at least another chapter up this weekend. Sorry that it's so late though.

For those of you who didn't figure it out already, Yekaterina Braginskaya is none other than Ukraine! That's right. Ukraine doesn't officially have a name by Hidekaz, but that name that I used is the common name that she seems to appear under for most fics. I think it's because Yektarerina means both "pure" and a form of rocket artillery. xD

And yes, I skipped two months. People take time to fall in love, and I wasn't going to keep updating their relationship day by day, otherwise, we'd be here for years! So I'll be doing time skips like that from time to time, and this is the first.

Hope you all have enjoyed this chapter! Things are about to get moving!

- Galythia

P.S. Thank you for all the reviews! Reading them makes me very happy, and they keep me going to write the next chapters in hopes that they're even better than before.


	10. Chapter 9

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 9

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Francis: **Ah Alfred. I'll give you the same advice that I gave dear Ivan in Episode 43: If you want people to like you, just offer them your love! "How do I get to your bed from here?" is what you should be saying. Don't let such a voluptuous woman escape!

**Alfred: **Oh, pleeease~ I don't need her! Single heroes are even sexier!

**Francis: ***shakes head* Ah, petit amateur! So sad...

**Arthur: **France, maybe I should listen to your words. I've been a bachelor for far too long...

**Francis: ***with glinting eyes* Hehe...

**Alfred: **What is it...?

**Francis: **I got it! From now on, I decree that you two are a couple. It's perfect! Alfred needs a lover, and Arthur needs one too!

**Arthur: **Francis, what was that you said?!

**Francis: **Um... Uh... Your unicorn is beautiful! *runs off*

* * *

Upon opening the door to his house with Alfred right behind, Arthur looked around for Peter. The kid was sitting on the couch, as usual. Arthur rarely saw him off the thing.

Arthur greeted Peter and smiled softly. "We're going out to dinner." It was obvious that both the Kirkland brothers were excited, since this was an absolute treat for them. Alfred didn't know what to think himself. How had one little thing gotten two people so excited?

Peter got dressed in a hurry, though he tried to look his best. He was laughing the whole time, definitely looking forward to the dinner.

Arthur watched his brother with a small smile. He was very grateful to Alfred for inviting them to eat—more so than Alfred would ever know. It was rare to see Peter so happy, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a little jealous for not being able to do that himself. It made him feel like an incompetent guardian. Still, he remembered the custody case that had followed his mother's death, and it had been a long battle. He never regretted winning.

Alfred glanced at his driver and was surprised to see such a fond expression on the usually flustered or agitated face. It was really quite a pleasant change, and it was an expression that he had never seen before. Alfred started to understand the complex relationship between Arthur and his brother.

* * *

Alfred had driven them to the restaurant, since he was bad at giving directions and Arthur didn't know where it was. Alfred had always had trouble with maps himself, and he wasn't going to reveal that embarrassing trait to Arthur any time soon.

When they arrived at the expensive looking French restaurant, Arthur and Peter just stopped at the door for a second, staring in awe. Peter's amazed expression quickly turned into an extremely happy one, and he laughed excitedly, grabbing Arthur's and Alfred's hands and almost dashing in.

Alfred laughed and followed, while Arthur just blushed.

The waitress, upon seeing Alfred, smiled and said, "Your regular table, sir?"

Alfred nodded and was led there with their menus. Peter still hadn't let go of either hand. Though he was currently thirteen, he acted like he was nine. He looked like a ten-year-old too, for all other people knew. Peter had been mistaken for Arthur's _son_ a couple of times, even if their age difference was only nine years.

Arthur breathed out in relief when Peter let go in order to sit down. He had been completely aware of the surprised look on the waitress's face when she saw them. He knew immediately that they looked like a couple with a child, and he was sure that wasn't good for both him and Alfred. _Especially _Alfred, who had a Yekaterina for a girlfriend. Though she looked like a harmless bimbo most of the time, she _was_ Ivan's sister after all. A lot of people often forget the fact that they were related.

* * *

Arthur looked down at his plate with great expectancy. He had let Alfred order for both him and Peter since neither of them spoke any French, and that was the only language on the menu, it seemed.

But Arthur had placed good faith in Alfred to make his first time in a rich restaurant as this a good one. The same went for Peter.

And as Arthur looked down at his steak, he had no regret about trusting Alfred.

And as he took a bite, he had even less scruples about having done so, if that was possible.

"So… Peter, how old are you?"

Peter swallowed his food quickly to answer. "I'm thirteen, sir."

Alfred laughed. _They're so alike._ Both the Kirkland brothers had trouble getting past the formalities with Alfred, and Alfred was struggling to get them used to it.

Peter watched Alfred's expression and mistook it for irony about his age versus his looks. Peter blushed.

"I know I don't look like I belong in high school…"

Alfred chuckled. "No, it's not that." He waved it off with a smile. Just when he was about to say something else, his phone rang. He looked at the name and blushed. "Sorry, I have to take this."

He flipped it open and murmured, "Yekaterina, honey?" and walked off to get some privacy.

Peter's face paled. He looked at Arthur, swallowing audibly. "Is that…?" Arthur knew exactly what his brother was asking. He nodded ominously.

They ate in silence.

* * *

When Alfred returned, even he noticed that the air was different. With a concerned expression, he asked, "Is anything wrong?"

Arthur laughed nervously. "No! Nothing…"

Alfred didn't look convinced, and Arthur was well aware of that.

The rest of dinner went a lot less lively than before. The brothers were a little on edge, while Alfred was just puzzled about the whole situation.

* * *

When Alfred walked into his house, he found that the lights were on. He cautiously entered and was attacked from behind by none other than Yekaterina. He ended up on the ground, held down by very heavy and large breasts.

"A-Alfred! My… my therapist has said that I shouldn't see you anymore… and b-brother Ivan… my therapist told m-me to stop visiting h-him too… I… I think that I-I'm going to l-listen to h-him…"

Alfred was absolutely stunned. Yekaterina and him had only become a couple about three weeks ago, and he thought that it all had been going quite well. He was just surprised that she'd break it over a suggestion from her _therapist_. It broke Alfred's heart.

But Yekaterina was close to tears—as she often was—and Alfred was at a loss for a reply. He was sure though that his crestfallen expression wouldn't help her in the least. He pulled up his heroic strength and smiled.

"I love you, honey, but if you want to do so, then I'll let you." He reached a hand up to caress her face. "You can do what you want."

Yekaterina sighed in relief and got off of Alfred. She stood around shyly, not sure what to do. Finally, she leaned in and gave Alfred a quick kiss on the cheek and dashed out the door, leaving it open behind her.

Alfred stared after her with a depressed feeling. He sighed and exasperatedly ran a hand through his hair, slamming his door shut. He couldn't do any more work tonight. He wouldn't have been able to concentrate.

Alfred trudged up to his room and fell onto the bed, falling into a restless sleep without even changing out of his clothes.

* * *

Arthur was also having a hard time falling asleep, though it didn't have anything to do with heartbreak. He was just reminiscing about the days of old. He had no regrets about the divorce, since he had enough experience now to know that what they had felt was nothing like love, but he still thought of that as the "good old days." Ivan had been so wealthy, and for just a little moment in his life, he and Peter were well off.

Arthur rolled over on his makeshift bed and sighed.

"Arthur… Do you miss Ivan?"

Arthur was surprised. Peter was awake?

"I… No. He and I were too different…"

"But you seem to be missing something…"

Arthur sighed. Peter was too perceptive sometimes. "I just… It was a good feeling, you know." He turned to smile at Peter through the darkness. "You'll get there soon enough."

Peter was puzzled. Arthur could sense it, though he didn't reply. They laid there in silence for a little before Peter finally decided to ask.

"You mean… the feeling of…" He blushed. He wasn't old enough to just say 'love' without scruples. It just felt too awkward, especially to his brother. Even if they were close, they weren't _that _close.

Arthur chuckled. "Yes. I miss the feeling of being in love. It's… lonely. And when you go off to college, what am I to do?" he despaired, though half jokingly. Still, it showed his strong intent to work hard to be able to pay for Peter's education.

Peter smiled slightly. "Well, you can't get a girlfriend since you're working all the time!"

Arthur let the slip pass. The correct term would have been _boyfriend_, but Peter didn't have the same orientation as his elder brother, so it was forgivable. Arthur had gotten used to how rare homosexuality was, and how often it was frowned upon. He no longer cared.

"Anyways, kiddo, just get some rest." Arthur turned to his side just to make his point.

Peter sighed but complied. Even though Peter was still very curious, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. He knew that Arthur had his best interest in mind.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Oh my goodness! I'm sooooo sorry for my lack of updates in recent times. My brain has been _fried_ to a complete crisp for the past week, and probably for the coming week too. But I won't rant here. I'll save you all my stress and frustration.

So I'm also sorry that this chapter is much shorter, and that my writing quality has been pushed back to beyond the stone ages, but I tried! *^* Yosh! I promise to try harder next time. Sorry, sorry! Gomen!

Okay, so Yekaterina's relationship with Alfred was short lived, but I promise that DRUNKEN yaoi will start next chapter. :3

- Galythia

Poll Question!

Is anyone against this changing into an "M" rated fic?

And

Does anyone dislike SM stuff? I, personally, am such a fan (perverted, I know), but... This is just a poll! No SM might even be in this story at all. I just need to gauge this first.


	11. Chapter 10

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 10

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Francis:** It seems that Galythia followed my advice~

**Arthur:** Galythia! Are you telling me that you're making me fall in love with this... this... IDIOT?!

**Ludwig:** Calm, Arthur. Calm.

**Arthur: **Oh, don't you even start, _Ludwig_. I know all about you and your potatoes!

**Gilbert:** He's got a point... Hey! Would you look at that? I'm a sexy awesome tenor! Heh. Galythia sure knows how to speak the truth.

**Alfred:** o.o _"I kissed a guy and I liked it!"_

_

* * *

_

Arthur felt that his life was so lax in recent times. He only had three running jobs, instead of his usual six before. He even had time to drive Peter to school in the mornings on all days now. Perhaps most of all, Arthur was thankful of Alfred because he now had more time to spend with his brother.

Arthur arrived at his employer's house earlier than usual, having been ordered to do so.

Alfred walked out swiftly and told Arthur to drive to the office on the double. Today was an important day, and Alfred was very excited. Alfred's pay raise rested on this case today. If he was successful, he'd become the top lawyer of his firm. Practically his whole career depended on this case, and he felt lucky this morning.

Arthur smiled slightly, glancing back in his rearview mirror. "What's gotten you all giddy today?"

Alfred beamed back. "Today will be the best day of my life!"

Arthur laughed, but he decided not to ask more. He knew that it had something to do with money, and hearing anything more about Alfred's riches would make him sick, as it always did.

* * *

"Your Honor, in the end, it is almost _self evident_, I dare say, that the defendant is guilty."

The judge glanced between him and the opposing lawyer. But Alfred recognized the look. It was then that he knew he had won. Still, he knew better than to show that satisfaction on his face.

"I herby declare Mr. James Finnigan guilty as charged."

Alfred beamed and shook hands with his client, who was weeping with happiness that justice had been done.

Alfred felt completely accomplished. He knew that his advisors were impressed, and that the next day would probably bring with it great news.

* * *

Arthur was taking his job as a bartender while Alfred was in court. Today he had a midday shift, so it wasn't nearly as crowded as his night shifts. Still, Roderich was there and playing his piano.

Plus, today, one of the sexiest tenors Arthur had ever met was singing at the bar. Gilbert Weillschmidt was well known in the area, and occasionally, he would stop by and sing, accompanied by Roderich. And on those days, the bar was even more packed at night.

"_We belong together, don't you think?  
You and I…  
Though you may not see it._

_We belong together, I do think.  
You and I…  
Even if it hurts, so be it._

_I just wish that one day, you'd see…"_

The words drifted in and out of Arthur's head as he leaned idly against the counter, currently devoid of a task. As he lost himself in the music, his mind eventually drifted to _Alfred_.

That jolted him awake immediately.

He had felt the rush of… compassion? Companionship? _Love_? Arthur shuddered. He couldn't be feeling for his employer, could he? That was so… taboo.

And yet, as he thought more and more about Alfred, the feeling became more and more apparent. And Arthur had never been good at lying to himself, especially on matters such as this.

"_Oh, I wish you'd see, that I love you~"_

Arthur thought about it. _'I love you,' huh?_ Arthur was careful about that. Last time he had thought he loved someone, it wasn't love. He wasn't too keen on calling this time love also. But he knew that it was different than what he had felt for Ivan. It just felt better, more exhilarating, more… passionate. Arthur couldn't really say that he disliked the feeling.

Even if it wasn't love, Arthur suddenly came to realize that his feelings for Alfred weren't really normal for an employee. It wasn't all that bad of a feeling.

* * *

Arthur was nervous as he picked up Alfred from the office. He just didn't know how to face Alfred after having come to that realization not so long ago.

But his nervousness melted away when Alfred slid into the seat behind him.

Arthur smiled, knowing the outcome of the case already. It was written all over Alfred's face. Alfred was absolutely beaming.

Arthur asked nonetheless, "So?"

And that set Alfred off on a long string of chatter that lasted the whole ride.

.:HALF AN HOUR LATER:.

Arthur arrived at Alfred's house just as the sun was setting. Alfred got out of the door that Arthur held open for him and smiled.

So happy was Alfred that he squeezed Arthur in a very tight hug. "Bye!" he called out excitedly as Arthur pulled out of the driveway. He apparently didn't notice the strong crimson tinge that covered Arthur's cheeks as he drove off. _Really… That idiot can be so dense…_

_

* * *

_

Arthur drove up to Alfred's house the next morning with a smile. He was looking forward to perhaps another hug, even if he would never openly admit that. Throughout the previous night, memories of that hug had kept him warm.

Arthur whistled as he rang the bell.

As the door creaked slowly open, he smiled brightly and was halfway through his greeting when Alfred's disheveled frame greeted him.

His expression immediately fell to concern. Alfred had been so happy yesterday. "A-Alfred…?" He winced slightly, still not used to the informality.

Alfred just stared levelly at Arthur for what seemed like an eternity before his hand slowly came up, hesitated only slightly, and grabbed Arthur's jacket.

Before Arthur was even aware of it, Alfred yanked him down and Arthur felt very soft lips on his, not at all gently.

Alfred's lips were demanding and his tongue kept begging for entrance into Arthur's mouth, trailing along Arthur's bottom lip seductively.

Arthur couldn't really react. He didn't feel an urge to pull away, which surprised him, but he didn't kiss Alfred back either. He was just too shocked to do much of anything, except allow Alfred to continue his antics. After all, Arthur had realized just a little ago that he held feelings for Alfred.

"A-Alfred? Sir?" he stammered when he could, but Alfred didn't reply.

Arthur tasted and smelled alcohol as Alfred continued to kiss him, pulling him into the living room, leaving the front door open.

"Sir!" Arthur tried again to snap Alfred out of it, but Alfred was quite drunk. There were about three wine bottles on the table, two of which were completely drained, and the third one close to finished. It seemed that Alfred had drank the night away.

Before Arthur could dwell more on the matter, he felt Alfred push him down on the couch and straddle him. Alfred's hands started undoing Arthur's collar, having rid Arthur of the jacket at the door.

Arthur couldn't stand it anymore. He was just too flustered to deal with this at the moment. Sure, he was homosexual, but if Alfred was making fun of him because of that, Arthur would be pissed. But above all, he'd feel incredibly hurt. He wouldn't allow his hopes up.

He untangled himself from Alfred and managed to stand up shakily.

Blushing incredibly, he averted his eyes to the ground and clutched his shirt together.

"Mr. Jones! What are you thinking?!" Arthur yelled, very annoyed at the assault.

Alfred stopped mid-step, having gotten up after Arthur, and actually seemed to have snapped out of his drunkenness.

"Wha…?" He looked around, dazed, not sure what he had just been doing. But as he looked at Arthur's figure in front of him with the most innocent expression ever, he couldn't help but think that Arthur looked like such a turn on standing there like that.

Without really thinking, Alfred just reached up and captured Arthur in another kiss, though this time a lot less forceful and more heartfelt.

Arthur was surprised, and he even gave a little moan in pleasure, though he quickly chided himself for it. He didn't want to open himself up too quickly. Sure, in recent times, he had started realizing that he felt for Alfred a little differently than an employee should, but if he accepted Alfred's actions now, he knew that he ran the high risk of getting hurt.

And so, as much as he didn't want to, Arthur pulled away and wiped his mouth.

"What are you doing?!"

Alfred had been surprised at his action—only remembering this as their _first kiss_—but pleasantly so. He didn't regret it one little bit.

"I… ha! Nothing," he replied with a bright smile.

Arthur's eyes widened, even if his blush deepened.

"Yeah. I don't really know what I was doing. Must have been all the wine." Alfred ran a hand through his hair and sighed exasperatedly, plopping himself down on the couch.

Arthur was immediately overcome by a deep pang of sadness, though he became angry externally. He berated himself silently for having even felt a little happiness when Alfred kissed him.

"Yeah. Must have been that. You better be giving me a pay raise for having to put up with your idiotic antics." Arthur crossed his arms. Any normal _heterosexual_ man would have probably quit the job then and there, but Arthur hadn't found that he had disliked Alfred's attack all that much.

Nonetheless, he stormed off to retrieve his jacket and close the door. He wasn't angry because Alfred had come onto him, but he was angry because Alfred had given him the rekindling of love that he needed, and taken it away so quickly after. Arthur was angry with himself more than anything. He knew that it wasn't Alfred's fault. Alfred didn't even know that his driver was harboring feelings for him.

Arthur scowled and walked out the door, calling behind him, "I'll be out in the car! Come out when you're ready! Sheesh…"

Alfred stared after Arthur for a while, still feeling the tingling on his lips from their kiss. It had been the first time that Alfred had kissed a man, and he didn't really find that it was all that bad. Especially since it was Arthur at the receiving end.

He brought his fingers to his lips and slightly brushed his mouth gently with the tips, remembering the exact feel of Arthur's full lips captured in his.

It was a feeling that he was sure he'd never forget.

* * *

Author's Comments:

I'm so disappointed in myself for this chapter! T_T It fails... I know that I said that I'd try to improve it, but what with school and stupid work, I haven't even had a chance to revise this! And even when I looked it over, I knew it sucked, but I just didn't have the brain capacity to improve it... Gomen...

I'll try to update more often! Promise!

- Galythia

P.S. Thank you for all the reviews! You all make me very happy!


	12. Chapter 11

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 11

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Ivan: **Oh yes... I love seeing that expression on Arthur's face. He's going through the pain of remembering my exquisite... _skills_...

**Arthur: **Hehe... What are you talking about, _Ivan?_ Be quiet...

**Ivan: **Bedroom skills, of course. What else?

**Arthur:** W-What?!

**Alfred:** Wow. Arthur, you've been around...

**Arthur: **It's not like tha—

**Francis:** Ivan! I'm jealous... *pouts*

**Arthur:** Why am I surrounded by idiots and perverts?! Not to mention a sadistic creep...

**Ivan: **What was that? *wields pipe*

**Arthur: **N-nothing! Umm... Feliciano! Help!

**Feliciano: **PASTAAAAAAA~

* * *

Ivan whistled softly as he counted the money in his hands. He was placing them in neat stacks of five hundred on his table. He loved going through his money whenever he felt like thinking, and now was the opportune time. He had _a lot_ to think about.

His sister had come crying to him a couple of days ago with a very melancholy tale, but that wasn't what bothered Ivan. She had let slip something about a handsome driver, and the description had intrigued Ivan beyond more than he wanted. _Bushy eyebrows—more like patches of hair, eh? Sounds just like him…_ But how likely was it that his ex-husband was also the driver of his sister's boyfriend? The world was small, but not _that small._

Nonetheless, Ivan was bothered. And until he was put at ease, he could never continue on with the other things he had to do.

He stood up and put on his coat, tugging his scarf close. There was only one thing to do, and that was just to go and knock on the door of the famous lawyer, Alfred F. Jones.

* * *

The rest of that day had gone by without further incident. The air was very heavy between the two at first, but it gradually lifted, though not a single word beyond pleasantries was exchanged.

When Arthur drove home that night, he was absolutely exhausted. Peter glanced up worriedly from his homework. "You okay?" He could tell that his brother had had an especially taxing day.

Arthur nodded and plopped himself down on the couch next to his brother with an exasperated sigh.

"Peter."

Peter looked up attentively and questioningly. Arthur didn't continue for a while.

"I never loved Ivan."

Peter wasn't particularly surprised by the content of the statement. Though Arthur had been a miserable wreck after Ivan left, Peter felt that Arthur had recovered all too completely to have ever felt strongly for the Russian. But Peter was a little surprised by the fact that Arthur had said it. Arthur had finally admitted it, and Peter was suddenly very interested in what had happened that day to cause this revelation.

But Arthur had accepted a while ago that he didn't love Ivan. It was soon after the divorce that he had come to realize that. But this was the first time that he had told Peter. But he just felt the compulsion to make sure that Peter knew that his brother was capable of making stupid mistakes. Accepting that fact was an important skill in life.

_I think I… like my employer. No. I definitely like him._

Arthur was careful about using the word love. He didn't think that he loved Alfred, and he wasn't going to use that word until he was absolutely sure of it.

Peter eventually returned to his homework when Arthur didn't continue. Arthur and he sat in companionable silence for much of the rest of the night before heading off to sleep.

For one of the few times in his life, Arthur felt liberated, if only a little, from his massive burdens.

* * *

"Hi, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred raised one eyebrow at the very slight Russian accent and replied, "Speaking." He was on his laptop in bed working on some scheduling difficulties he was currently having.

The voice cleared his throat. "Yes. I am in need of a good lawyer. I will pay whatever fees necessary." Of course, Ivan wasn't really in any sort of legal situation that would require a lawyer, but this was his one way of investigating. He could easily pull over his younger sister, Natalia, and frame a situation with her, if necessary. But he wasn't even planning on getting that far. All he needed was one glimpse.

Alfred glanced over his schedule with a sour expression. Did he really have time for another case? Eh. He figured he could at least hear the Russian out.

"I'm currently a little busy right now," Alfred hesitantly spoke. "Perhaps you are available for a meeting tomorrow?"

Ivan was pleased. He had all the time in the world and tomorrow would be a perfect day. "Yes. How about the Italian restaurant down Clay Street? Feliciano's Fettuccini or something?"

Alfred smiled slightly. He hadn't had Italian food in a while. "Sounds wonderful. We can have lunch, no?" Alfred glanced over his schedule to find a time. He brightened. He had a giant chunk at around noon. "Eleven thirty?"

Ivan agreed. "I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Jones."

Alfred hung up, not sure whether to be excited or full of dread at this upcoming meeting. He was looking for a good case, and if this one had some criminals or illegal drug dealing, he'd be happy. It was an odd notion to realize, but it was the truth. His life was just too boring recently.

* * *

Arthur was surprised when he was called up at ten thirty to pick up Alfred from the office. But luckily, he didn't have a bartending job to get to that day. He swiftly turned his car around and went back to the office. It had only been about an hour since he had dropped off Alfred at the office anyways.

.:FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER:.

Alfred slid into the back seat with a half smile. He really just wasn't sure how to approach their time together anymore, ever since that kiss yesterday.

"Hey…"

Arthur nodded curtly and murmured, "Sir."

Alfred felt a deep pang. Arthur had reverted back to a very formal and stiff manner with Alfred, and Alfred hated it. Still, he couldn't really blame his driver. They had been awfully familiar the other day, and this was just Arthur's way of showing that he didn't want it to happen again. Alfred understood and grimly abided by it. He didn't want to make anything worse between them.

.:THIRTY MINUTES LATER:.

Arthur pulled up stone-faced to the restaurant. He didn't even look up as his employer exited wordlessly. What was he supposed to say? Usually, they joked all the way to whatever destination Alfred had, but ever since yesterday, things had gotten so silent between them, and Alfred wasn't really all to blame.

Arthur had reverted back to a very reserved demeanor because he was afraid. He was scared that Alfred would fire him if he showed any interest, since an employee wasn't supposed to. But he was also scared of showing interest because he feared that Alfred would have said that was a mistake. Arthur couldn't even imagine how he would feel if that ever came to pass. He didn't want to think about it.

Arthur breathed in one deep breath and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

Ivan was just so slightly annoyed when he arrived and saw that Alfred was already standing there. He had missed his chance to see the driver. Now he actually had to go through the lunch with the agitation of not knowing just yet.

Alfred smiled as he looked up from his watch. Ivan approached him and he held out a hand. "You must be mister…" Alfred trailed off. He realized that he hadn't even gotten the name last night.

Ivan filled in the space. "Ivan. Ivan Braginski." Alfred was struck by the name. _I wonder if all Russians have 'B's and 'K's in their names…_ Ivan's name sure was close to Yekaterina's.

Ivan, on the other hand, was thankful for his name being different than his older sister. When he had entered the realm of the rich and extravagant, he had changed it ever so slightly so that if he ever did anything bad, it wouldn't affect his sisters. But for that little reason, he didn't have to go through Alfred's awkward surprise that his possible client was the brother of his ex-girlfriend.

Alfred started chatting animatedly as they entered the restaurant.

Ivan sighed inwardly. _Here we go_. It was time to confabulate with this famous lawyer over a nonexistent case.

* * *

Arthur returned at one thirty as he was ordered to. He turned off the engine and waited outside, closing his eyes and trying to relax just a little before he would have to be in the presence of his love interest again.

Alfred walked out with Ivan, still talking animatedly. Ivan listened politely, nodding here and there when needed. The lawyer had actually done a lot of the speaking aside from the actual telling of the fabricated story, so Ivan was relieved from making up even more things on the spot.

Ivan glanced down at the sleek black car and saw the sleeping driver in the front, though he couldn't tell from this angle who it was exactly. Still, the blond hair looked awfully familiar.

"… Mr. Braginski, it doesn't seem like we actually finished. Would you like to discuss this back at the office?" Ivan smiled, which unnerved Alfred just a little. Perfect.

"I would love to, Mr. Jones." _Absolutely love to…_

Arthur opened his eyes and sat up as he heard the car door open.

Alfred slid in, still talking, and his guest followed. Arthur was too caught up in preparing to leave to look up.

"Mr. Jones, about that little fact you just mentioned…"

Arthur froze. That voice sounded too familiar. _No._ His blood ran cold. _It couldn't be_. He sat there for a while before looking up into his rearview mirror. He paled considerably when he was met with a pair of violet eyes, intently trained on him.

Alfred looked up, suddenly sensing the small tension. He laughed, thinking that the tension was just from not having been introduced to each other.

"Arthur, this is Ivan Braginski, one of my possible new clients. Mr. Braginski, this is my chauffeur, Arthur Kirkland."

Ivan extended a hand in greeting and donned on a very gentle smile by his standards. It unnerved Arthur even more, but he had to shake Ivan's hand out of courtesy. Ivan's grip was stronger than he remembered.

Arthur then turned and hesitantly started the engine. The whole way back, he could feel each time the violet eyes fell on him, and he pushed himself to keep his eyes glued to the road. Alfred didn't even notice a thing.

* * *

Author's Comments:

So I know that most people have been wondering just why Arthur got married to Ivan at the beginning, and Ivan's coming back. This is actually when the good stuff starts (it's chapter eleven! o.o). I feel that I've been dragging this out for far too long... I mean, there's at least another nine, if not more chapters to go...

I'm sorry if this is a long story overall for some people, but I'll try to make it good so that you all stick around to the end!  
So please, try and stick to the end... I promise I'll try to make it worth while!

I hope that you all like this chapter. It was written in about two hours. xD

- Galythia


	13. Chapter 12

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 12

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Ludwig: **O.O I own a bar? Huh.

**Feliciano: **You're in the food business too, Doitsu? *huggle*

**Ludwig: **Thank god I chose this job...

**Ivan: **Oh, I feel so happy for some reason!

**Arthur: **I-I don't... I wanna puke...

**Alfred: **And I'm just plain mad at you!

**Arthur: **Don't act as if I'm at fault, you dimwit!

**Francis: ***pouts* My beautiful plan is failing! You two must get together and give fan service to all the beautiful women out there~

**Arthur: **Oh, don't you even start, you lily-livered hogwash!

**Francis: **Language, my dear Brit. Language!

**Roderich: **I don't think that the language is why this was changed to a rated M fic...

* * *

Arthur let out a sigh of relief when Ivan exited the car without incident. Well, Ivan did flash Arthur one little smile, but Arthur tried to pay it no mind. The smile was much more… sinister than he had remembered. And of course, the whole way, Alfred didn't even notice a thing.

Arthur was careful not to look back in the mirror as he drove off, for he was sure that he would meet with very carefully measured purple eyes. He shivered.

Arthur found parking in some random parking lot and leaned back in his chair. He loosened his tie and took off his cap, allowing himself some space to relax.

He got past the initial shock just a little ago. Seeing Ivan again sent waves of emotions crashing into him, all of them jumbled and undecipherable. It made Arthur confused and dizzy. He was glad that Ivan was away with Alfred.

His heart throbbed painfully as he started thinking about Ivan in particular. It wasn't the pain of a one-sided love, he realized. But he didn't know what it was. He just didn't find thinking about his ex-husband pleasant. Perhaps it was the regret… Or the self-anger that he didn't fight more to keep that relationship, even if it wasn't love, just for the well-being of Peter.

_I would still be rich if I was married to him… Peter would be going to a good school…_

Arthur sniffed. He felt a rush of disappointment at the lifestyle lost by his selfish actions. Not all marriages needed love, after all, though at the time, he did think that he was in love.

Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his chair back. _Best not to think about it at all…_ It took him quite a while to get to sleep.

Arthur woke with a start when his cell rang. Alfred had bought him a better one and even paid for his plan. Alfred had complained about Arthur being so stingy with his phone usage. Arthur still remembered his words: _"It's America, for God's sake!"_ That memory gave Arthur just a little comfort as thoughts of Ivan and what just happened earlier today came rushing back.

Arthur felt sick, but he answered anyways, not bothering to look at who called. Only three people knew his number anyways—Alfred, Peter, and Ludwig, the uptight owner of the bar he worked at often.

Apparently, four people knew now.

"Arthur?"

Arthur could have sworn that his heart stopped dead. He swallowed audibly and shakily replied, "Y-Yes…?"

Arthur could hear the smile as Ivan replied, "Good. Mr. Jones was so gracious as to give me your phone number for a ride back home. Do you mind picking me up outside his office?"

Not sure what to reply, Arthur started the car, his hands shaking. "Yes, s-sir." He hung up, not giving a chance for Ivan to reply. He closed his eyes, leaned back, took one last deep breath, and pulled out of the lot.

* * *

Ivan whistled happily as he got in the passenger seat, not bothering to sit in the back where guests usually did. Arthur was too nervous to tell him to sit in the back.

Ivan smiled and said, "Oh! I don't live in _our_ old house anymore. I live down Burgundy Lane. I trust you know where that is."

Arthur nodded slightly and drove off, stone-faced. He honestly didn't know why he was so scared. When they were married, there was none of this fear, but this Ivan was different. Arthur felt himself shivering whenever Ivan's eyes were on him, and that meant that he was constantly shaking this whole ride.

Ivan smiled again. "Come now. Say something. I haven't seen you in ages! I miss my snookums!" Ivan placed a gentle hand on Arthur's lap. Arthur flinched. He didn't reply.

Ivan stroked Arthur's thigh very lightly, his hand moving higher each time. Arthur subconsciously clenched his thighs together. One thing hadn't changed about Ivan. He was as sexual as ever.

Arthur remembered it all too well.

Ivan smiled knowingly as Arthur's cheeks reddened.

Ivan's hand then reached his target. Ivan grabbed at Arthur's crotch strongly. Arthur gasped and winced, his breathing changed.

Ivan chuckled. "Still as sensitive as ever, I see." Ivan started massaging Arthur's crotch through his pants, causing Arthur to lose his concentration on the road.

"Now, now, Kirkland, don't crash! Keep your eyes on the road." Of course, as he said this, he skillfully unzipped Arthur's pants one handed. Ivan removed his hand just a second to work on Arthur's belt.

"Tell me, Arthur. Did you miss me? Ever?"

Arthur wanted to glare at Ivan, but he didn't know why. He felt a slew of emotions whenever he thought of Ivan. He felt resentment, fear, anger, sadness, pain, and other emotions along those lines. Needless to say, none of them were quite comforting. _No… I didn't miss you… I did… Well, I miss being in love… But that wasn't love… Still, I was rich… Peter had been well off… I didn't miss you… I did…_ Arthur was having a strong inner conflict, made worse by Ivan's even stare.

Arthur's breath quickened as Ivan's hand returned to his previous work, now only separated by the thin layer of cotton that was Arthur's underwear.

When Ivan gave a little squeeze, Arthur's mind immediately went to one thought: _Alfred!_ His eyes widened in surprise. This wasn't really the time to be thinking about his dense boss.

Ivan mistook that reaction as one of pleasure. He doubled his torture on Arthur.

* * *

Arthur was so glad when Ivan said, "There's my house." Arthur wasn't surprised that it was a mansion, but he was surprised to realize that it was a smaller house than Alfred's._ Damn… I'm surrounded by rich bastards…_

As Arthur pulled up to the front door, he dropped his hands from the wheel and gave an airy moan. He tensed, whimpering as he did so, and slumped back into his chair.

Ivan smiled, enjoying himself thoroughly. He pulled his sticky hand out of Arthur's pants and it in front of Arthur's half-lidded eyes before smearing it on both of Arthur's cheeks. Arthur was too exhausted to fight back, though he managed a slight groan, which Ivan once again mistook.

"Don't worry. There'll be more." He leaned in and licked Arthur's cheek slowly. _Lovingly._ Arthur shuddered, not sure what emotion caused that. He knew that on some level, he did feel strong disgust though.

Ivan then turned Arthur's head towards him and kissed Arthur roughly before thoroughly exploring Arthur's mouth with his tongue, smearing Arthur's gooey ejaculation all over. Arthur was completely disgusted. He tried to bite down on Ivan's tongue, but only managed to encourage Ivan more.

When Ivan was satisfied, he withdrew and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Still taste like black tea too." Ivan opened the door. "I'll see you later, _honey_." He got out of the car, whistling the same tune he had when he walked in, and almost _skipped_ up the road. Oddly enough, the action didn't seem merry like it should.

Arthur closed his eyes, horrified at the sickly sweet taste in his mouth of his own fluids. He could feel it caking on his cheek as he moved slightly, not to mention caking on his pants and now flaccid member.

Arthur sat there for quite a while before even being able to start the car and drive wearily back home.

* * *

The next day, Arthur brooded in a corner while he waited for the sun to rise. He had gotten virtually no sleep last night due to certain traumatic instances of the day before.

He hadn't enjoyed Ivan's assault one bit. No. He didn't. He tried to convince himself of it, and it helped that he had thought of Alfred in the middle of all that.

But though that fact supported the argument against Ivan, it appalled Arthur a little that he felt that much for his employer. It only made his situation seem more depressing.

Arthur put his head in his knees and leaned against the wall. Memories came back to him of a couple months ago when he was in this same exact position, but that was Alfred's fault then. _Alfred… Alfred…_ Arthur felt a little resentment against Alfred for not being there to save him from Ivan, though he knew deep down that he should have been. It wasn't Alfred's fault.

Arthur sat in silence for a while, mulling over yesterday with surprising calmness.

He knew for sure that he didn't love and doesn't love Ivan. He also knew that he felt something startlingly strong for Alfred, which he never saw coming. Last of all, he knew for sure that he dreaded his next meeting with Ivan. _Alfred…_ He kept coming back to Alfred. He wanted Alfred's comfort. His shoulders felt bare without Alfred's arms. The room felt cold without Alfred's warmth. His lips felt dirty without Alfred's purity… Arthur needed Alfred there, but of course, he knew that that was too much to ask.

Taking it all in, he forced himself to stand up and get ready for work.

.:SOME UNKNOWN TIME AMOUNT LATER:.

Just as Arthur was entering the realm of nuclear warfare, also known as making breakfast, he glanced at his watch. He rushed out to wake up Peter.

As his hands hovered above Peter's shoulders to shake him lightly, he noticed that Peter's eyebrows were closely knitted and that Peter was sweating profusely. Anxious, Arthur put a hand to Peter's forehead. Peter was burning up.

Arthur snapped into automated action. He didn't think. He just _did._

Next thing he knew, he was dabbing at Peter's forehead with a warm towel, completely neglecting his watch and the time. All of his attention was on Peter.

He was shaken out of his trance-like state by the vibration of his phone. He jumped, startled. The phone was in his pants pocket and that was far too close to his crotch for his liking.

Arthur answered, checking first that it was Alfred or Ludwig, and not that bastard of a Russian.

"Hello?"

Alfred noticed that there was something different in his driver's voice, but couldn't pinpoint what it was. He dismissed it and muttered, "Do you know what time it is?"

Arthur glanced down at his watch. His eyes widened. "I'm sorry! One thing happened after another and now… well…"

Alfred sighed. "Just hurry. I've got an important meeting this morning." Arthur noticed that Alfred sounded stressed. Arthur nodded.

"Yes, sir." He slowly lowered the phone and flipped it shut, glancing worriedly at Peter's shivering figure. Arthur tucked in Peter even more and glanced back at his watch. He could be back in an hour at the least, if he was lucky enough to be clear of traffic all the way.

Agitated, he put on his tie and slipped on his coat. Taking one glance back at Peter, he sighed and reluctantly dashed out their rickety door.

* * *

Alfred rushed up to the car door and slid in, slamming the door loudly and yelling, "On the double!"

Arthur looked back at his employer and couldn't help the deep pang he felt as he remembered the feelings that he had possessed that morning, sitting against the wall.

Arthur pulled off and drove ten above the speed limit to the office.

During the way, Alfred sat in silence, staring out the window. Alfred subconsciously started tapping his foot impatiently, of which Arthur was all too aware.

Eventually, Alfred looked up and muttered, "How much longer?"

Arthur replied, "I don't know." His voice was surprisingly calm.

Alfred didn't take that reply well. "Well that isn't very helpful, is it? Think about it before replying. How much longer?" _Honestly…_ It was evident that Alfred wasn't in a good mood himself. This was a highly important meeting after all. His career was once again at stake. It didn't look good on his reputation if he showed up late.

Arthur snapped. "I don't know! Will you just let me concentrate on the driving, for God's sake? Sheesh!"

Alfred opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came. He was dumbfounded that Arthur would actually yell at him. Finally, he managed, "Is this the tone that you take with your employer?"

Arthur felt bitter resentment at Alfred's words. They were just an employee and an employer. Nothing more. Never will be. Arthur knew that Alfred would probably murder him if he ever found out about Arthur's feelings.

"Well, it sure seems so, doesn't it, _sir._" Arthur knew that he'd regret his words, but he was feeling far too sad and frustrated at the moment to care. He was angry at Alfred for being so awfully dense about all things, and he was feeling worked up over Peter's fever. He was also very emotionally fragile because of yesterday.

Just right then, they arrived at the office. Alfred's eyes were blazing. "You do your job poorly. I am late, and it is _your fault_. My job is at stake, meaning that your job is even more in danger." He paused, thinking about it. Just when he was about to say something, Arthur interrupted.

"Sir, if I may," he muttered sarcastically, "I could care less, all right? You never feel the troubles that I have, and here you are, acting all high and mighty! You are no more man than I am! Money isn't everything." _Yes it is._ Arthur knew that in this society, money was everything, but he felt too brooding to say it.

And just when Alfred was about to reply yet again, he was interrupted by a cheerful chime on Arthur's cell. He glanced at the caller ID and picked it up. It was his neighbor. Peter probably gave the number.

His neighbor spoke in a slightly panicked tone and was almost blabbering too fast for Arthur to even comprehend in his worked up state.

But as his neighbor neared the end of his statement, Arthur dropped the phone. He was absolute asphyxiated with the horror that gripped him. He struggled for breath. The world came crumbling down. Thousands of atomic bombs were erupting and it was _all his fault_.

_Damn it all! Fuck it! Screw the whole world!_

Arthur executed a quick u-turn and started driving back to his house.

Alfred noticed and glared at Arthur. "Just where do you think you're going? I have a meeting to get to!"

Arthur didn't reply, but kept his eye on the road. He was sweating profusely and sick to his stomach.

Alfred tried again, his tone dangerously angry. "Arthur Kirkland! I demand you to take me to my office this instant!"

Arthur glanced up with an annoyed expression. "This is important." All traces of sarcasm were gone.

Alfred didn't care. "Your _job_ is the most important thing! To my office _right now!_"

Arthur couldn't concede. There was too much going on that he needed to return to. He was gripped by fear and worry and he had no patience for Alfred.

"I _have _to do this. It's very important. Absolutely important." He ran one hand through his hair, trying to keep his voice level.

Alfred seethed. He breathed in deeply and murmured in a very lethal tone. "You are the most insolent driver I've yet to possess."

_Possess, huh? Funny word choice,_ Arthur thought bitterly.

Alfred continued when Arthur didn't reply. "If you don't turn back this instant, you're fired!"

Arthur almost stopped the car and turned around. Almost. But what he was rushing to was more important. Much more important. "I don't give a damn!"

Alfred yelled, "That's it! You are hereby fired! Do what you will, but you are not my driver anymore!"

Arthur felt a strong stab of pain pierce his heart, but he paid that less attention that he usually would. His mind was on other things. His neighbor's words had been so shaken, so… scared, that Arthur feared for the worse.

Alfred went on with his yelling, but gave up when he saw that it was no use. He'd have to go along with Arthur anyways, as bad as it was. Alfred glanced at his watch. There was absolutely no way that he was going to make this meeting at all.

Arthur kept his eyes on the road, thankful that Alfred finally shut up. One word ran through his mind the whole drive to the hospital. _Peter._

* * *

Author's Comments:

Longest chapter yet! And yes, this is now an "M" rated fic. I'm not sure if it is quite the level of "M" yet though, but better safe than sorry, right? What do you guys think? "M" or "T"?

Gosh! I'm sorry I haven't updated in recent times. I just finished a massive project about two hours ago and spent that time up until now writing this chapter. It's 12:53 in the morning and I feel completely angsty. That means that next chapter is probably going to be angst filled~

And yes, I've left you all on a wonderful little cliffhanger. Am I not the nicest person that you've ever known? xD

I think that I will use this little time to take a little rest. Don't be alarmed though! That doesn't mean that I'll take a break from updating. I'll just draw it out a little bit so that you all can formulate your own ideas about what's gotten Arthur so worked up, and why it was "all his fault." (I'll basically hold out until I myself can't stand it anymore, which won't be that long anyways).

And I'm very happy that this is going to coincide with Christmas! I've got a very great surprise planned!

- Galythia

P.S. Thank you to all of you who have stuck with me thus far! Your comments give me the motivation to write more, and your support gives me inspiration! I thank you all from the bottom of my heart!


	14. Chapter 13

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 13

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur: **Why am I so weak?! Dx

**Alfred:** Because you always received.

**Arthur: **What? I never played baseball in my life! That was invented in _your_ country...

**Francis: **Oh, Arthur... I'm not sure he meant baseball.

**Arthur: **What?

**Peter: **But I like baseball! Though I don't play it much where I am... There isn't enough grass... There actually isn't any grass...

**Arthur: **It's better than being stuck in a place that rains _all the time_.

**Peter:** Arthur, you insensitive older brother! Jerk...

**Alfred: **I find it so odd that they are so different than in this story. Can't you guys just exist in more peaceful harmony like Galythia portrays you? It's so much more peaceful!

**Arthur and Peter:** Not until he apologizes!

**Francis: **Oh dear...

* * *

Arthur rushed into the hospital with a very anxious expression. _Peter!_ Arthur was sweating profusely with worry and he just wished for some sort of saving grace. Anything. Just anything to make him feel more secure about his precious only family.

Alfred, on the other hand, still didn't understand why Arthur was so worried. For all he knew, Arthur was rushing into a hospital for a trivial reason that didn't justify him turning around and making Alfred not only late for, but miss his meeting completely.

Alfred yelled out indignantly as Arthur ran out of the car after parking it. He was cut off by Arthur slamming the door in his face, not even listening to one word he said.

Alfred huffed angrily and crossed his arms. "You'll take me home, Arthur! _Take me home!_" But Arthur was no longer in hearing range of Alfred's angry yells.

Crossing his arms, Alfred slumped back into the chair, completely cross. That meeting was absolutely vital to his job. Now Alfred had no clue if he was going to be fired tomorrow, or if he was even going to be fired later tonight. His firm _needed _that meeting. And he had missed it all because Arthur frustratingly _had_ to go to a hospital.

A sudden thought struck Alfred. He glanced at the ignition and frowned. _Damn it._ Arthur had even taken the key.

Without any other choice, Alfred straightened his suit, tightened his tie, and opened the door. He would drag his driver back by brute force if necessary.

* * *

Arthur burst into the reception area of the hospital. He ran up to the counter and slammed his hands down to get some attention.

"Where is my brother, Peter Kirkland?" His voice was rushed and his eyes burst with panic.

The receptionist just looked up at him above her glasses and pointed at the line Arthur had just bypassed.

Arthur didn't even glance behind him. "I know, but this is an emergency! Where is he? I need to see him!"

The receptionist sighed and rolled her eyes. "Sir, there is a line. Please join the back and wait your turn."

Arthur always hated receptionists at hospitals. They were the most unhelpful idiots he had ever met. What kind of service is this? People were dying and they weren't letting him in because there was a _line?_

Arthur tried again. "I _need_ to see him! Where is h—"

"Sir. Sit down. Please. You are disturbing the other patients. Either sit or join the line. A nurse will be with you shortly if you're asking about Kirkland."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but immediately shut it when he saw the receptionist's eyes. He turned and plopped himself down in a chair, his face buried in his hands.

_This isn't happening…_

Arthur didn't want to believe it. Peter was definitely not in the hospital.

Arthur felt like sobbing. His life was crumbling before his very eyes. Peter was its foundation now that his parents were gone. If he lost Peter… Arthur didn't want to even think about it.

He sat in silence for a while, earning multiple stares.

Arthur shivered. He felt an odd tingling sensation down his spine. Someone was _knew _that stare. He had felt it far too often.

Arthur breathed in deeply and mentally prepared himself.

He looked up, and there they were.

Purple eyes.

* * *

Alfred walked in through the door, looking dignified and respected. His eyes deterred anyone from approaching him. Alfred was rarely ever angry, and when he was, it wasn't pretty.

Alfred approached Arthur, not noticing the person across from him one bit, and put his hands on his hips. "You will take me to the office. Right. Now."

Arthur glanced up at Alfred and placed his head back in his hands. "I can't…"

"What do you mean you _can't_? Do you know what you made me miss? Do you know that I could be _fired_ because of you?"

Arthur didn't look at Alfred. He felt horrible about it all. Not only did he feel sick with worry for Peter, he felt completely guilty about making Alfred miss something so important. Arthur was stuck in a situation that he never wanted to be in.

"I… I'm sorry, but this is important."

"More important than _your job_? I doubt it. Now take me back to my office right now so that I can at least have the hope of retaining my—"

"Mr. Kirkland?" a nurse called from around the corner. She smiled slightly, looking around and waiting for a reply.

Arthur stood up and walked past Alfred without a second look. Alfred fumed, but his interest was piqued. At least he could now discover the oh so important reason for which he had to miss his meeting.

Alfred crossed his arms and listened, an angry expression all over his face.

Arthur fidgeted with his hat. "Please! How is he?"

The nurse smiled. "Calm down, Mr. Kirkland. He is okay. He only suffered minor burns. Though he does have a slight fever. We'll have to keep him overnight, but he should be discharged by tomorrow morning."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

Ivan stood up. He had been watching it all patiently up until now. He approached Arthur and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur shivered. He knew who it was immediately, and grinded his teeth when he felt the hold tighten possessively. He remembered that instance in the car all too well. It was yet to be explained why Ivan was even here in the first place. It wasn't as if Ivan actually cared for Peter anyways.

Alfred glanced over, noticing Ivan for the first time. His eyes widened. _What was his client doing here of all places? And what was with that familiar action towards Arthur?_ Alfred was about to make his confusion known when Ivan spoke.

"Ma'am." He nodded a greeting. "We're glad to know that he's okay. Now, if we could discuss the other matter, please. I've got a lot to do, and I'm afraid that my time is short."

The nurse nodded. "Of course."

Arthur raised one eyebrow, though his expression gave away quickly to worry. "What other matter?" he asked gravely.

The nurse glanced between the two and noticed the slight tense air. "Well, Mr. Kirkland, your house is currently burned to cinders."

Arthur swallowed and nodded. He already knew that from the phone call. But at the time, he could have cared less that all of his possessions, not to mention his main stash of cash, was all gone. All he had worried about was Peter.

Alfred, on the other hand, had not been expecting this, of all things, and his eyes widened in surprise. _Arthur's house… burned down…? _The small part of him that was still resentful for missing his meeting didn't care. _He deserves it for putting my job at risk. I had worked so much to get here!_ But the part that was actually compassionate and cared for his driver argued._ Arthur worked so hard… for all of that… and it's gone!_

"And the police have discovered that the fire originated in the oven."

Arthur's eyes widened. _Shit._ Arthur recalled all of the events that had happened that morning. He had started breakfast, checked his watch, and then tended to Peter's fever.

He never turned off the oven.

Arthur got over his surprise quickly and nodded grimly. It had been his fault! _Damn it all!_ Arthur felt completely miserable, not to mention sick of himself that he had put his ailing brother in harm's way so carelessly. _I'm sorry, Peter…_

Ivan smiled. He knew where this was going, and he liked it.

"So, Mr. Kirkland, our child care agents have reviewed the case and decided that Peter simply just can't stay with you."

Alfred felt his mouth drop. Peter was the one that was hurt? No wonder! But Peter wasn't badly hurt, right? The nurse had said it… Surely Arthur could have still dropped Alfred off at work before going to this hospital.

With that thought, Alfred's annoyance at being late returned.

"You apparently have far too much on your hands or something to have to care for him on your own," the nurse continued.

Arthur paled. "No… No!"

Ivan's grip tightened, but Arthur ignored that.

"Please! I can assure you that this won't happen again. This morning was just too rushed for me. I was just worried that he was so sick, and… well… Please. I beg you. Just don't take him from me!"

Arthur felt his throat tighten. _Don't cry! Be strong. Show them you can take care of Peter._

The nurse gave Arthur a sympathetic look and murmured, "I'm sorry, but our job is to figure out what's in the best interest of the child." She motioned to Ivan. "This man here is the only person we could find to have custody of the child."

Arthur paled considerably. "No… You can't do this! Please don't! I promise to you! I can prove that things are getting better! I have a stable job now. Everything's okay!"

But the nurse shook her head. "Sir, I'm sorry, but this has to happen. Peter isn't safe with you."

Arthur groped at the air in front of him, not sure how he could convince the nurse that Peter should definitely not go off to someone else, and Ivan of all people.

Alfred had been watching things unfold, and he was torn once again. Part of him was feeling quite sorry for Arthur, and was in support of Peter staying with Arthur since Alfred knew how responsible Arthur actually was. But the other part of him just wouldn't give up annoyance and frustration about having his job at risk all because of Peter's minor injury and a custody battle that wasn't even his issue. He should be at the office, for God's sake!

Ivan smirked. "The legal matters can be taken care of later, right?" His smile grew. It was such a coincidence that Alfred was there also. He turned and pulled Alfred over.

Alfred's glasses went askew as he was jerked to stand between Ivan and Arthur. "My lawyer is right here," Ivan continued. "You can contact him." Ivan handed the nurse Alfred's card and the nurse nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured, turning and walking away. It was evident that she thought Ivan was definitely more responsible than Arthur.

Alfred was at a loss. _What?_ He knew that Ivan had a case, but he didn't know that it would be this! And why was Ivan the only person that could get custody over Peter? That didn't make any sense! Were Ivan and Arthur brothers or something? If so, then why hadn't either of them mentioned anything yet?

But before Alfred could ask something, Arthur rounded on Ivan with a steely stare.

"I _will_ battle you for Peter! Mark my words, Ivan; he won't go to you! And your _idiot_ of a lawyer won't do good either!"

Alfred was taken aback. _Idiot, he said?_ Hmph! Anger flashed over Alfred's face for a second, completely forgetting that he actually felt sympathy for Arthur. "Now if you'll take me to the _office_, I'll hand you your _last_ paycheck."

Ivan let go of Alfred's arm with surprise. Last? Did Alfred say 'last?' Ivan smiled. This was getting better and better. Now Ivan had power over Arthur, and Arthur was completely miserable. The world seemed so much more beautiful!

Well, Ivan had nothing against Arthur, but he always enjoyed torturing people. Though he never regretted divorcing Arthur, he missed Arthur's agitated reactions to his teasing. Ivan relished in when Arthur was disturbed, angered, or sad. It just gave him joy, especially if he was the cause of it. And this situation was no different.

Arthur felt his throat tighten even more. Hearing Alfred react so… apathetically to Arthur's situation made him want to cry. And to think that he actually felt something for this man!

Arthur made sure that Alfred saw the tears in his eyes before coldly stating, "Fine. _Let's go._" He turned on his heels and strode off swiftly.

Ivan smiled, obviously very joyful at the recent events. This was better than he had experienced in years!

Alfred, on the other hand, wasn't expecting that strong hurt expression. It disturbed him greatly as he followed Arthur.

Alfred's brain was swirling. How were Arthur and Ivan related? How the hell was he involved in this custody battle? Too much information had been thrown at Alfred in too short a time. It would take much longer before he could even wrap his mind around it.

Was it just a coincidence that Arthur was Alfred's driver and Ivan was Alfred's client? _Ex-driver,_ Alfred reminded himself, not quite regretting that decision to fire Arthur still. Arthur was just too feisty and opinionated to be a good driver. After all, the main point was that Alfred still had missed his meeting.

Yes, in the end, he had missed his meeting, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Heya! So I'm sorry for not having updated in like... a week... but school work has been a hell for me. Still, I tried my best to bring you guys this update and I apologize for how jumbled it is! Gomen!

Thank you all for your reviews! Every single time I check my email and I see that someone has reviewed, you guys have no clue how happy I get! Thanks a bunch too all of you!  
Gratias ago (Latin)!  
ありがとう (Japanese)!  
Cam on (Vietnamese)! 谢谢 (Chinese)!  
Gracias (Spanish)!  
Merci (French)!  
감사하십시오 (Korean)!  
Dank u (Dutch)!  
Danke shon (German—sorry for missing the two dots above the "o." I don't know how to do that...)!  
σας ευχαριστούμε (Greek)!  
Grazie (Italian)!  
вы (Russian)!  
ขอบคุณ (Thai)!

Those are all the Hetalia languages that I know, so I'm sorry if I'm missing anyone's language... Hehe...

But, yes. Definitely, thank you all so much! You all keep me writing!

-Galythia

P.S. I'm doing a little contest that's going to span for multiple chapters (until someone gets it right). I don't know what the prize is, so I guess that's not great incentive, but I'm sure it'll be something! Art, maybe? I'll draw some chibi for you or something like that... All of the questions are Hetalia related, of course. Some of them have to do with this fanfic, and some of them are just general Hetalia trivia. You're only allowed to guess once, so think carefully! Each question is independent of the other, meaning that there is a separate prize for each question, and if you got the previous one wrong, you can always try the next one! I'll be releasing one question at a time with each chapter or so! Have fun!

1. What is something _very_ special about Alfred's office? And I mean, _very special_. I definitely wrote it down somewhere before, and you'll definitely know what I'm talking about when you come across it again! (This is a fanfic specific question, by the way.)

Oh, and you can guess whenever, however. Send me a PM, or review, or email me. Whatever you want, and whenever you want to! But remember: FIRST PERSON TO GET IT RIGHT GETS THE PRIZE! (Sorry for the fail incentive, but if I don't get around to a good prize, at least you get the satisfaction of being a Hetalia connoisseur!)


	15. Chapter 14

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 14

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Antonio:** Awww... Arthur! Cheer up!

**Arthur:** Oh shut up! I'm having quite a bad day, if you have yet to realize.

**Alfred:** Aw, c'mon Arty! The world hasn't ended yet! Plus, vodka'll make you forget all about it.

**Arthur:** Thanks for the _great advice_. I _couldn't have thought of it without you..._ -_-"

**Ivan:** Ahhh... Vodka...

**Arthur: **Oh you be quiet! You're the cause of most of this!

**Peter:** Arthur! I don't like Ivan's place...

**Arthur: **I'll try to save you when I can... though it doesn't seem like there's much hope now...

**Antonio: **Cheer up, guys! The world hasn't ended! We're still together!

**Arthur: **I don't _want_ to be together.

**Ivan: **All of you... be one with Russia... *smiles maliciously*

**Arthur: **Don't you dare pull that on poor little _Peter_, or I'll kick your sorry ass!

**Francis:** Oh... I can do _more_ than that... some of which does _rhyme_ with "kick," but... *licks lips seductively*

**Alfred: **Hey... guys... _WHY THE HELL IS MY HEART ACHING IN THIS CHAPTER?!_ This isn't right... I don't understand it! T^T

* * *

Arthur slammed his hand down on the counter. _What the hell?!_ He had been drinking for at least two hours straight. He had no house, no brother, an ex-husband—fiend—to deal with, and an apathetic employer.

Arthur was actually sitting at the bar he worked at, but off hours. Elizaveta, Roderich, and Gilbert have all approached him with various shows of concern or attempts at cheering him up, but they didn't know enough to do much good. Arthur didn't tell them anything at all.

Arthur downed another shot of vodka and relished in the way it burned down his throat. He used to hate vodka until he married Ivan… And now he probably would return to hating vodka.

This time with himself gave Arthur a moment to reflect, and he realized two things: Ivan was more of a bastard than he ever had realized, and Arthur felt more for Alfred than he had thought previously.

Ivan, first of all, hadn't ever been this maniacal when they were married. Otherwise, Arthur would never have found himself tied to the Russian in any way, especially through wedlock. But it had been Ivan who had left Arthur heartbroken and empty. Arthur had eventually gotten past that, and steeled himself to continue with life, never thinking that he'd meet the Russian again, especially in these peculiar circumstances.

But now, Arthur actually found it a little hard to wrap his head around it all, even only the Ivan part of things.

Something must have changed Ivan between their divorce and reunion, if Arthur could even call it a reunion. And whatever had done that, made Ivan a lot worse than ever. Arthur found himself surprised that he had ever loved that man, or even thought that he had loved that man. Back then, Ivan was a sweetheart. Now, Ivan seemed like a good for nothing miscreant. Arthur shuddered. And now Peter was in _those_ hands.

Well, Peter would soon be, at least. There was still the custody case, but Arthur knew that he had no money to afford a good lawyer that could go against… Alfred.

Alfred.

Arthur was sure that he definitely felt something strong for Alfred now. Though Alfred had been such a jerk over the events this morning, Arthur couldn't help but be drawn to the successful lawyer anyways. And deep down, Arthur felt terribly guilty about making Alfred miss that meeting.

But Arthur was also quite put off by Alfred's apathetic reaction. After months of working for the American, Arthur thought that just perhaps, the American would feel something for him, even if it was just friendship.

But it was obvious from the day's proceedings that Alfred felt nothing of the sort. They were just employer and employee.

Arthur felt his throat tighten for the hundredth time that day.

And yet, he still loved Alfred…

Arthur bit his lip. The world was crumbling down before his very eyes, and it was all _his own fault_. Arthur would have at least been able to cope if it only affected him, but Peter was also involved, and Arthur could never ever forgive himself for that.

* * *

Alfred sat around in his office, not sure what to do. Sure, Arthur had done what he had wished for and returned him to his office, but for some reason, Alfred couldn't figure out what he wanted to do.

The phone had rung many times, but he felt no will to pick it up. People had knocked on his door countless times, especially to talk about that missed meeting, and he just murmured that he was busy.

Perhaps it was the shock that his job was at great stake, and all because of his driver… Or perhaps it was his shock that he didn't _care_ about that as much as he worried over his driver at the moment.

After all, what did Arthur have now? No job that Alfred knew of, no house, no money, and… no family.

_Oh shit…_

Alfred clenched his fist, starting to feel a strong dislike for himself.

_How was I so stupid?!_

He remembered how he was so apathetic, and how he was so… selfish. There he was, his driver having lost basically everything, and all he wanted was to go back to his office.

Alfred leaned back in his black swivel chair, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.

And the way he had left when Arthur dropped him off…

_Arthur pulled up to the double glass doors without a word—he hadn't said anything from the moment that they had left._

_Alfred took one glance at his driver, still feeling quite angry at having missed that meeting, and made a little noise of apathy._

_The lawyer gathered up his things and opened the door harshly, not caring if he damaged the car._

"_The closet is in the back of the hall. Shoes go in the same closet, on the side shoe rack. Make sure to put shoetrees in them. The car goes in the left garage, and the hat goes on the seat," Alfred said stoically, not looking at his driver._

_And with that, the lawyer got out of the car and walked into the building, not once looking back. No good-byes. Nothing._

_And Alfred was too enraged at the time to even feel a sense of loss as his driver drove away, though hearing the sound of the engine start up, then disappear, started calming him down. His heart started aching._

Alfred sighed. Now that he had calmed, he couldn't believe how much of a cold jerk that he was. And his heart wouldn't stop aching, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

Alfred put on his coat. He would go and find Arthur.

Though of course, the chances of him being well received were second to none.

* * *

Arthur glanced up at the clock. There were three bartenders now instead of two, and the shift was about to change.

Arthur heard the door open and close above the general chatter and the sound of thick boots hitting the ground. _Just in time…_

But of course, Arthur was quite disheveled at the moment, and was quite unrecognizable, wearing a spare set of Alfred's clothes that he had stolen while at Alfred's house. Or perhaps it was a spare set that the American kept around for his multiple girlfriends, since it was men's clothing, but small enough to fit Arthur.

The ex-driver called for another shot of vodka, both hating it and loving the drink. Being reminded of the fact that Alfred was dating Yekaterina definitely called for another shot. Probably two.

Oh, and the fact that Alfred was his opposing lawyer over Peter. Definitely more than two.

Arthur groaned. He had worked in a bar for so long, and drank so many times that he miraculously somehow became very steeled against alcohol. It took _a lot _to get him drunk, and most of the time, Arthur was thankful for that. But this was one of the times that he hated that fact.

He just wanted to feel the burn—_live_ the burn. Forget about everything else but the alcohol.

Forget everything…

* * *

Alfred saw the police and firefighters from the other corner of the block.

Alfred swallowed. He didn't think that it was this bad. There were at least four firefighting trucks around, and police basically swarmed the whole area around Arthur's house.

Alfred parked the car a whiles away and carefully approached.

As he rounded the corner, he saw a crowd of people, composed of passersby and neighbors, who were all whispering about the commotion.

It was then that Alfred found the will to look up. His eyes widened and mouth dropped.

The spot that was Arthur's house was now basically charred rubble. And the neighboring houses were also damaged.

Alfred, being a great lawyer, knew what this meant. Not only would the landlord be after Arthur, but the neighbors and their landlords too… And Alfred was quite sure that his ex-driver had barely any money.

Alfred's heart ached even more, and his self-loathing almost doubled in size. Arthur had been in this much trouble, not to mention facing the loss of his brother to Ivan—why Ivan was even involved, he had yet to figure out—and Alfred had demanded nonetheless to go back to his office. No word of sympathy or anything. Nothing.

Alfred seriously wanted to hurt himself. Never before had he ever been so selfish. He had let his anger get the better of him, and now he regretted it more than anything.

He had to find Arthur.

Alfred pushed through the crowd of people until he reached the yellow "DO NOT CROSS" line. The landlord within was in a heated argument with a policeman, while a detective was taking notes through the rubble. He picked up a chipped china cup that Alfred recognized was the one that Arthur had drank from when they had had tea at his house.

The other landlords and neighbors of the damaged houses were outside also, bracing the cold in their bathrobes. They were whispering amongst themselves, all carrying a look of great resentment.

Alfred shuddered. Arthur was in more trouble than ever.

The American searched frantically through the crowd of people surrounding the scene, but couldn't find Arthur. Arthur was neither inside the yellow perimeter nor outside.

Alfred swore. He was thankful that at least Arthur hadn't shown up to his home, for he probably would have been arrested by now, but now Alfred didn't know where Arthur was either.

He ran back to the car and sat for a while, at a loss of where to go. Alfred just started up the car and began driving, unsure of his destination.

He trusted that his will to find Arthur would eventually lead him to Arthur, though he doubted that it could. After all, New York was a big place.

* * *

Arthur hiccupped softly. Damn. After these many shots and he still wasn't even close to drunk. Sure, his thoughts had slowed a little, but he definitely wasn't close to forgetting the world.

Antonio, the new bartender, just took his shift and was cleaning the glasses out of sheer habit. The evening rush was about to come.

He glanced at the blonde, who certainly _looked_ drunk, and resisted the urge to poke him.

Arthur groaned. "Another shot… please…"

Antonio creased his eyebrows. "Sir. I'm not sure that that's the best idea…"

Arthur willed himself to sit up a little. "Another shot," he murmured, giving Antonio one of his glares of steel.

Antonio swallowed and smiled. "Coming right up!"

Arthur sighed. This wasn't what he needed. But this was the best he could get.

* * *

Alfred drove around for at least two hours in vain. He could think of nowhere that Arthur would be at. Halfway through his drive, he had resolved that Arthur might have been wandering the streets as a beggar or something, but New York had a lot of beggars… Still, Alfred had to try.

But now, after two hours, the sun had set, and Alfred had basically given up. His quest had been nigh impossible when he started off, and it proved just so.

Alfred found somewhere to park and then just walked down the streets, searching for something—anything—to do.

" 'Downpour'…" Alfred read. It was the name of the place that he was currently standing in front of.

" 'Downpour… Lift your spirits… with spirits.' " Sounded like just what he needed. Without further ado, Alfred entered the bar, all hope lost of ever finding Arthur before the court case…

* * *

Arthur slammed his shot glass down on the bar. He had moved from straight vodka to vodka tainted with the taste of strawberries.

Arthur had now completely abandoned tea also, for he had ordered a glass when he first entered, but it was now sitting beside his shot glass, untouched, lukewarm.

The Englishman hiccupped. _Damn!_ He hated the fact that it took him this much to even start getting out of it.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Eight o'clock. Barely even suitable time to leave and try to find some shelter.

Arthur was just about to call Antonio over for a refill when he heard someone enter and sit down at the bar, leaving one seat between the stranger and Arthur.

"Bartender!" the voice called. Arthur would have perked up if he could. That voice sounded awfully familiar…

Antonio came over with a cheery smile. "Sir?"

The stranger called for a martini. _Starting off light, huh?_ But Arthur couldn't shake that feeling of recognition.

"Ugh," the stranger groaned, taking off his coat. Arthur betrayed a glance between his bangs towards the stranger.

His eyes widened.

No way in both hell and heaven was _he_ here, of all people. No way.

But try as Arthur might to not believe it, the evidence stood—or sat—in plain sight right in front of him.

No doubt about it, Alfred was sitting two seats away from Arthur, showing his ex-driver no recognition whatsoever, drinking a martini.

Too bad that Arthur lacked the ambition or ability to engage Alfred in conversation, or even face Alfred at the moment. Arthur turned back to his shot glass and stared into it, contemplating the tea beside it.

He couldn't say anything, since Alfred would surely recognize his voice, so tea was his only drink until Alfred left...

Arthur settled down, not even needing to try to disguise himself. He looked completely different already, and it was only his first day of homelessness.

Alfred took a sip of his martini.

Arthur crossed his arms on the bar and leaned in, laying his head down.

Somewhere behind the two, Gilbert's tenor voice rang through slowly, singing a somber song of melancholy melody.

And outside the window, the first flakes of snow started to fall...

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

Wah! Sorry that it has taken me so long to post! I've been busy this whole vacation, and I've been working piece by piece on this chapter. But now, it's finally done!  
As you all can see, things are looking quite bad for the pairing, but don't fear! There will eventually be a happy ending! (I hope...)

Sorry for this chapter being so short... I'll try to fill in the void of disappointment by making the next chapter a lot more interesting! This is just sort of a chapter that's in between... filled with bleh feelings and all of that sentimentality... (ANGSTANGSTANGSTANGST)

Thank you all for having stuck with me all this time!

- Galythia

P.S. It's time for question two!

Congrats to The-Holy-Desciple-of-Muse for answering the last question correctly! Alfred works on the seventeenth floor, room seventy six. 1776. The year of America's independence!

Now I have to set aside time to work on that drawing... hehe... xD And learn how to draw chibis... xD

2. What was quite peculiar about the first dish that Arthur cooked in this fic? Did I write that Peter actually ate it, or not?

Have fun! Next update will be sometime soon (I hope~)


	16. Chapter 15

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 15

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Sadiq: **Yes! I finally get an appearance in this! And with Heracles as my partner? Oolala~

**Heracles: **... Wha...?

**Vash: **Oh never mind! If you never pay attention, I don't know _why_ Galythia even put you in there!

**Francis: **Calm, guys... I don't think that you all are the main focus of this chapter anyways...

**Alfred: **You betcha! I'm the main focus, because I'm the hero!

**Arthur: **What sort of hero makes a person cry, huh?! Tell me, you idiot!

**Alfred: **Arty, this is just a fanfic...

**Arthur: **Oh... Fine. Why should I care about you and Ivan's sister? I don't care. What'd you have for lunch today?

**Alfred: **Why are you getting all defensive abou—

**Arthur: **_I'm not getting defensive!_ Oh... why do I care about someone you're dating, okay?

**Francis: **Ma cherie... you were the one that brought it up in the first place...

**Kiku: **Francis... I don't think that that was the best thing for you to say...

**Roderich: **You guys are being so loud! My piano's being drowned out because of all of you!

**Gilbert:** You know... pianists do it with _ten fingers_~

* * *

Alfred and Arthur sat beside each other in complete silence, Arthur pretending to be in a drunken stupor and Alfred just mellowing in his own world.

Arthur had gotten over his initial surprise at Alfred's appearance and was now just enjoying their proximity, feeling that this would be the closest they would ever be for a while—perhaps, forever.

Alfred, on the other hand, had started to get a little drunk, and was starting to hiccup occasionally.

Arthur couldn't help but smile a little in amusement, though frowning at the same time. His mind went back to the last time that Alfred was drunk… It pained his heart too much to think more on the matter, and so Arthur closed his eyes and took a sip of his tea, attempting to forget.

By now, Gilbert was lying on the grand piano, singing to Roderich, who seemed awfully uncomfortable at the situation. This all was probably made worse for the Austrian by the fact that Elizaveta was watching with an amused expression, not even jealous.

Arthur turned around slightly to watch the singer and pianist, his hood up so that Alfred wouldn't recognize him by his hair.

The Englishman sighed. The world was so full of love, yet he was left out of it. He was left out of the warmth, the comfort…. those strong, lean American arms around him…

Arthur's heart ached badly, and his only current comfort was tea. After all, there wasn't much else left to his name to comfort himself with…

Alfred was downing his fourth drink, having moved on to something harder than a martini, but still not as heavy as vodka.

Antonio had long given up on talking to Arthur, who was inclined not to make himself known by speaking, and approached Alfred instead on one of his passes between other customers at the bar.

"How are you doing, sir?" asked Antonio in the most chipper voice Arthur could have sworn he had ever heard… Well, most chipper next to that stupid American's…

Alfred smiled widely and hiccupped, already starting to use the bar as a support, and laughed, "Well! Well… Sort of…"

Antonio cocked his head to the side. "Sort of?"

That question gave the opening that was needed for Alfred to, in his slight non-sobriety, start into his long story…

* * *

Ivan crossed what little space there was left between himself and his poor little victim.

Peter was currently handcuffed to one of the poles on the bed to prevent him from attacking Ivan or escaping.

Ivan chuckled softly as the boy growled at him when he approached.

"Not as cute as I remembered," murmured Ivan, "but still as stubborn."

He swished the vodka bottle a little, glancing at it as if he was trying to survey the body and legs, much like one did with fine wine.

Shrugging, Ivan sat himself down on the bed right next to Peter, settling one arm around the boy. He laughed lightly, though even his light laughs were full of hidden meaning.

They were currently in Ivan's own bedroom in his suburban mansion. The room was of light colored décor, surprising, considering the dark aesthetic inclinations of its owner.  
In the corner was a black chaise lounge next to a comfortable looking beige sofa, and in front of it all, a small coffee table.

Across from the foot of the bed was a shelf that was filled with a variety of things, from books to CDs to a multitude of little porcelain figurines that were all gifts from Wang Yao. Actually, almost everything in the room came from Wang Yao.

And on the hook where Ivan hung his multiple scarves also sat a key ring. And on that key ring was the key to Peter's release.

Ivan leaned in a little and whispered in his ex-brother in law's ear, "Tomorrow, you start working, _boy_."

Peter tried to snap his head around and bite Ivan, but Ivan reared back just in time, having expected his reaction.

Ivan chuckled, letting out his peculiar 'kolkolkol' sound and stood up.

"Until then, Peter, you sleep here."

With that, Ivan walked out, leaving Peter actually quite surprised.

Peter had been sure that Ivan would have sexually tried something on him, or at least showed some sort of carnal and ferocious desire to do something to him, but the Russian had been almost stolid through the whole event.

Peter swallowed when he remembered the Russian's parting words, though. He could only imagine what sort of work he would be put to the next day.

* * *

The act between Roderich and Gilbert had ended, and Gilbert had exited the stage a while ago with much applause and even a couple of wolf whistles.

Roderich was now playing the piano softly, his fingers conjuring up a sweet tune that floated through the various conversations, creating the perfect ambiance for the bar. He had his eyes closed, his expression showing how he was trying his best to avoid Gilbert, whose flirting noises and smiles toward him from one of the seats below was starting to make him very, _very_ uncomfortable. One could only stand that sexy voice for so long...

It was approaching nine o'clock and the bar regulars were starting to file in. Among them were Eduard von Bock, the accountant for one of New York's big corporations; Feliks Lukasiewicz, the ferry tour guide; Vash Zwingli a highly successful, though dark, Swiss banker; Sadiq Adnan, a flamboyant designer for one of the most successful fashion stores that Fifth Avenue has seen in years, and his partner, Heracles Karpusi, the philosophical worker for a coffee shop on Madison Ave.

Arthur had moved his hood up even further and now had his head down on the bar, cushioned by his arms. He could see Alfred slightly through the space between his arms and the bar, and that was all he needed. He wanted to minimize the possibilities of being recognized as a bartender by the regulars, after all.

Alfred, on the other hand, was getting attention from a lot of the regulars, mostly because he looked like a guy who was drowning his sorrows, but also because he was telling such a good story.

Many had sat themselves around him, or in earshot of him, just to hear his tale. Antonio himself was listening intently when not serving other customers at the bar.

Alfred was recounting his sorrows, starting from the morning he had hailed that fateful taxicab.

At first, Arthur had been surprised that out of all the stories Alfred could tell, out of all the reasons that Alfred would have been drinking, it had to be the time they had had together.

It was a painful thing to listen to, mostly because back then, things had been much better and more simple… But Arthur listened nonetheless, partly because he loved the American's suave voice, and partly because he was curious as o what Alfred's view on their time together was.

"… But then you'll never guess what happened!" Alfred exclaimed, really getting into his story now. He was just at the part when Arthur finally got home from his long day at work and they met for the second time at his house.

Arthur blushed, knowing what was coming.

Alfred just but confirmed it when he laughed, saying, "He thought I was there to sue him!" His raucous laughter attracted a lot of curious glances, and it was infectious enough that everyone else around him starting chuckling too. It was almost as if he was at the center of a popularity circle… And as usual, Arthur was left out of it.

Alfred then continued, narrating past the misunderstanding and to the time he asked Arthur to be his driver.

"And I don't know what I was thinking, but when he asked why I hired him, I just said that I liked his eyes."

A couple of people in his audience chuckled and one of them wolf-whistled, causing Arthur to blush. Alfred only chuckled in response.

"Sounds like a pick-up line, I know," he admitted. "But his eyes sure were damn pretty. Might have been the prettiest that I've seen yet."

Arthur was struck, at a loss for words. Had Alfred really just said that? Had Alfred just complimented him? Arthur felt his heart jump with joy and skip a beat. This was already a much better account than he ever could have hoped for.

Alfred's narration lasted for about another forty-five minutes or so, filled with comments as to how he was the hero—at some parts where Arthur had to greatly restrain himself from bursting out with laughter—or little comments about how funny, cute, awkward, and pretty he found Arthur.

Many of the listeners occasionally even forgot that Arthur was a man, based on Alfred's description of him, and once, a man even asked for this 'woman's' number. Arthur had blushed terribly at that, his crimson hue only increasing when Alfred replied, "You know, sometimes, he not only looks like a woman, but acts like a nagging wife too!"

Antonio laughed quite loudly, enjoying Alfred's story. Arthur wanted to punch Alfred so much right now, but he also didn't mind that much. He just wished Alfred would shut up—yet he also wanted Alfred to continue.

Then Alfred finally came to the day when he was late for his meeting. The day when everything changed.

The American suddenly fell silent. A couple of his audience members who were still chuckling from his past comments caught on and fell silent themselves. Antonio stopped polishing his cup and slowly lowered his arms, giving Alfred an anxious look.

"Alfred… sir. Is everything all right?" Antonio's voice had lost a little of its chipper edge.

He was speaking the question that was currently on everyone's mind.

Alfred just sat there with a blank stare, which surprised Arthur, since he just thought that Alfred would have just continued through it like it was just another part of the story.

Arthur had thought that Alfred would have just relived his name as a jerk and just tell it like it wasn't anything bad.

And so, of course, Alfred's silence startled Arthur, though he didn't know what to make of it.

Antonio took the cue and refilled Alfred's glass, this time with vodka.

Alfred nodded thankfully and downed it immediately.

Just as some were losing interest, thinking that his story was over, Alfred continued, his voice now subdued and quite close to a monotone.

"I… was late, to say the least… Arthur had turned around and rushed off to god knows where at the time, and I was pissed. Absolutely pissed."

As Alfred was talking, he played with his cup idly.

Arthur just wanted to cry. Alfred was telling it just like it was, and he was approaching the part that Arthur didn't want to hear the most.

"And when I got inside… I, still overcome with rage… demanded to go home."

Alfred smiled wryly.

"But guess what? Sitting across from him was none other than that client of mine I told you about, Ivan Braginski. And you know what was even more surprising? Somehow, Arthur's awful cooking,"—though it was a jest, his mouth didn't even twitch into a smile—"had burned down his house and Peter, his little brother that I had told you about, was now in a custody battle… with Ivan."

A couple of the people around him winced. Antonio was shocked, and he had virtually stopped his work. Now, about nine people, including Arthur, was listening intently to this story.

"I know… And guess who's already hired as Ivan's lawyer?"

A couple more winced. One of them laid their arms around Alfred's shoulder and patted his back.

Antonio leaned in and smiled warmly. "Alfred… How do you feel about being the lawyer against Arthur?" He already had a knowing smile on him.

Alfred glanced up. "I… I don't know…"

It was a good question. Alfred knew that he felt terrible about it all, and that he just wanted to be out of the situation, but he didn't quite figure out why he was feeling that way yet.

"I… First of all, I regret being such… such an ass…"

Arthur's eyes widened. Had Alfred really said that? Alfred _regretted_ it? Alfred… actually had a heart.

Arthur smiled. His chest felt very warm all of a sudden… He felt better about falling in love with Alfred now…

_Wait. Love?_

But the thought didn't seem so bad or foreign to Arthur. It was a new feeling, but it was a good one.

_Yes… Love._

Arthur now had peace of mind. At least Alfred wasn't a complete jerk…

Alfred chuckled. "You know… I've already accepted the case… And the money that Ivan is bringing to the firm isn't going to make this an arguable case at all. Against my boss, that is. He will force me to do this… and I don't have much negotiation in it, especially after having missed that very important meeting… My job is already so much at risk…"

Antonio _tsked._ He smiled knowingly at Alfred and cleaned up his cup, signaling his suggestion that Alfred shouldn't have anything more to drink.

"That doesn't matter though, does it?" Antonio asked, laughing.

The others at the bar didn't get his question, and they all looked at him questioningly. Some were miffed and offended that Antonio was actually laughing at such a sad story.

Alfred looked up questioningly, a little irked himself.

"What do you mean…?"

Antonio laughed mirthfully and winked.

"Tell me. What does matter? What do you think is your top priority? What do you care about most?" Antonio questioned.

Arthur listened to all of this with great curiosity. He too was quite confused about what Antonio was getting at. He figured that whatever Antonio was trying to get across wasn't going to improve his situation much, though.

"C'mon, Alfred," Antonio laughed, "You know."

Alfred was still at a loss, but he forced himself to think about it.

Why did this situation bother him so much? Why did he actually feel like such a jerk? What was the reason for his extreme sense of loss at the moment?

Alfred's eyes widened. He chuckled loudly and slammed his fist down on the table.

Now the eyes of his listeners switched from Antonio to him. They were still puzzled.

Arthur had half a mind to raise his head then too and actually voice out his curiosity, but at the last moment, he remembered that he was trying _not_ to be noticed. Arthur settled back down, trying his best to seem like a terrible drunkard. He listened with great interest and apprehension, not sure if he should disdain or look forward to Alfred's great realization.

Alfred leaned into the chair, his head thrown back in laughter that rang throughout the restaurant from the bar, catching the attention of many others who had been deep in conversation before, though they soon dismissed it and returned to whatever it was that they had been talking about.

"I'm in love!" he exclaimed, laughter still ringing in his words.

Arthur almost choked. _What the hell?!_

That was the last thing that he was expecting to hear, but that was also the worst thing that he thought he could hear.

Alfred was in love… and wasn't Alfred still dating Yekaterina?

Arthur wanted to sob and just return to drowning his sorrows in booze once again… He felt so miserable. He felt utterly devastated… And worst of all, Alfred was laughing… unknowingly laughing at Arthur's expense…

But Arthur was glad that at least Alfred was happy. As long as Alfred was happy, perhaps Arthur could settle for watching from the sidelines... Perhaps…

Alfred's utterance had gotten him a parade of congratulations and claps, even if some of his audience members still didn't quite understand.

Antonio laughed and smiled brightly. "Good! The more love in the world the better!"

Alfred shook hands heartily with Antonio, thanking him graciously, then giving him a grand tip because of it. Antonio refused it as much as he could, but eventually, even he couldn't argue against an experienced lawyer.

Alfred donned on his coat quickly and was practically jumping up and down with joy. This realization had made him quite happy, and now everything was clear to him. All the pieces fit together. At least, all the pieces having to do with how he felt towards Arthur and things having to do with Arthur.

That was all he could ask for at the moment.

Alfred put on his hat and pushed up his glasses, flashing everyone a bright smile. "Thank you, thank you! This was probably one of the best nights of my life!"

With those parting words, Alfred rushed out the door, heading back to his home to start working on a secret project that had already taken deep root in his mind.

Arthur sighed, choking back his tears. That voice sounded so bright… so happy. Arthur felt so dastardly for crying about Alfred's realization, for being sad about Alfred's happiness… and lastly, for wishing so darkly that he could replace Yekaterina.

But Arthur willed himself to never act on those feelings. Alfred was happy. That should be all that mattered.

_Calm yourself! Don't you fucking _dare_ mess up Alfred's life just because of your selfish jealousy!_

And because of his self-reprimanding, he eventually was able to calm himself, though his heart still throbbed weakly, aching and threatening to wrench itself apart.

When things had returned to normal, Arthur glanced up weakly and sent for another shot of vodka.

Antonio raised one eyebrow and laughed.

"You should be so much happier!" Of course, Antonio didn't know that Arthur loved Alfred, but Antonio knew that Alfred had realized his love for Arthur. And since he didn't know that, he didn't want to reveal that fact to Arthur since he figured that Alfred would do it eventually.

Arthur growled, "Yeah, yeah. And you should get a therapist. Now give me some dogs bullocks, will you?" His agitation, broken-heartedness, and part drunkenness was making himself revert back to his old British slang.

Antonio chuckled and shook his head. "Well, I guess if it's coming our of your pay, I can't say anything against it. But cheer up! Brightness will surely come your way."

But Antonio placed a shot glass down in front of Arthur anyways and left him to his own thoughts, being called off by other customers.

Arthur sighed, downed his shot, and groaned. He laid his head down back on his arms and allowed himself to be swept away by Roderich's gentle tunes…

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

So since finals are over, I went on a writing spree! xD

I'm completely neglecting whatever homework I have for this, and I've finally gotten the next chapter down! I am proud to say that this is the longest chapter yet!

Forgive the structure of it though, for most of this was written while I was watching Nausicaa for the first time. Then I felt far too excited to have an update so I didn't proofread it.

And I guess here's where you guys can learn a little bit about me... I haven't proofread any one of the chapters that I've posted up so far. Not even once. I haven't even checked them over for grammar. My friend does that later after I post them and he then reports them to me at lunch. :P

The scene with Gilbert on Roderich's piano came from this lovely picture by Nothing Short of Pride: http: //rainbowrenthead. deviantart .com/art/Get-Off-My-Piano-150678411 (remove the space between "http:" and "//" the space between "rainbowrenthead." and "deviantart" the space between "deviantart" and "."). I can't put links on this, so I have to break it up...

SO...

I hope that you guys like this chapter!

I do hope that this is enough angst for you all so far... I remember that I had said something along the lines of "angstangstangst" in the previous "Author's Commentary" and I hope that you all weren't disappointed...

Oh! One last thing! I would LOVE to hear what you guys think is the job that Ivan has set out for Peter the next day. You'll all probably find out next chapter, but I love it when people speculate! I will love you all forever if you give me a guess! (Not that I don't love you all forever already just for reading this and sticking with me thus far...)

- Galythia

P.S. I hope you guys like the bar regulars. I tried to make their jobs as plausible as possible, considering that it's New York and all. ;P

ON TO QUESTION 3!

Congrats to Marisa-sama for having gotten the previous question right! Well, actually, many of you had gotten the question, it's just that I have barely any time at all to be drawing the one first place prize for each question, let alone one for everyone! (Though I dearly wish that I could...)

So question three is a bit biased, I must say. To those who don't spend time watching movies, I'm sorry... I'm sure those of you who don't watch movies (like me, most of the time) will be able to answer the other questions though!

But out of the... twenty or so movies that I've EVER watched, I have referenced one of them in this story. It was subtle, but it was almost a direct quotation. And it was a quote that most would remember if they had seen the movie (for I was dying of laughter when that part came by).

So what movie did I reference in this chapter?

NOT THE AVENUE Q AT THE BEGINNING! xD


	17. Chapter 16

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 16

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Yao: **Master-aru?

**Im Yong Soo:** Aniki! I didn't know you were into role playing!

**Yao: **I'm not, aru~

**Im Yong Soo:** Yes you are, _master_. That's why you made me call you that!

**Yao: **I'm _not _into that, aru!

**Ivan:** News to me... I mean, the times _we_ had together...

**Francis: **What was that, Ivan? Tell me about those times!

**Arthur: **Can we stop talking sex and focus a little on my misery?! I mean, Alfred just ran off and now I'm homeless in the _freezing weather!_

**Alfred: **Hehe... I've got a plan though... At least, I think that's what Galythia intends for me to have...

**Romano: ***frowns* My house? Why would I ever want that annoying bastard in my house?!

**Antonio: **Aww! But your house is so cozy!

**Francis: **And your bed is cozy too~ *suggestive eyebrow raise*

**Romano: **What was that, French bastard?!

**Yao: **Guys, guys... Why are you all so annoying, aru? I'll make you all some snacks, so just chow down and relax?

**Gilbert:** The _awesome_ has arrived!

**Roderich: **Who asked for you...?

**Gilbert: **You're just jealous that you don't own a cello. After all, they're large, they go between your legs, and they vibrate!

**Roderich: **... *blush*

**Im Yong Soo: **Vibrating objects were invented in Korea!

**Yao:** I know, Im Yong Soo... I know... all too well...

* * *

The next morning, Peter was greeted by raucous laughter. He sleepily rolled over, or at least, he attempted to, and was jolted awake by the sudden stop of arm movement. _Wha…?_

For a moment, he was confused. But then the memories came flooding back to him. The house… burning… Arthur… Ivan… The job.

Peter wanted so badly to throw up.

But before he could think more about that, he was jolted back to reality by yet another bout of laughter.

He searched around for the source of the sound, knowing that it came from somewhere below his feet… slightly to the left…

Ivan and two others were sitting there, all looking like maniacal crime lords as usual.

They were laughing amiably about something that Peter had missed, and it was obvious that it was something very surreptitious.

When Ivan noticed the stirring figure on the bed, he stopped laughing and glanced over with a light smirk.

"Peter… Good morning…" His tone was light… almost dangerously so.

Wang Yao turned around and raised one eyebrow. He observed the stirring figure quietly, contemplating how effective the kid would be at his new job.

The Chinaman turned to Ivan with a skeptical look and murmured, "I don't think he'll do, aru."

Im Yong Soo, who had been sitting on Yao's lap, sprang up to get his own view on the matter.

He walked over and leaned over Peter, his expression a mix of suspicious curiosity and ravenous hunger.

Peter shrunk back, afraid of those prying eyes.

That man… _all of them_, actually… had this dangerous secretive aura about them.

_Well, okay. Maybe everyone but the man standing near me,_ Peter thought, though he shivered nonetheless. _That man is just plain… I'm scared…_

They all were suspicious and shady characters… _probably leaders of crime rings or something…_

But Peter was pulled out of his thoughts by an ice-cold hand that grabbed his chin, turning his face around for observation.

He squirmed against the hand, but was far too weak to do much.

Im Yong Soo released Peter's chin, tsking quietly. His hand immediately traveled down the collar of Peter's shirt to feel around his chest.

Im Yong Soo frowned, moving his hand back and turning to look at his employer, Yao.

"Master," he murmured, pouting in a very delectable way—at least, delectable to Wang Yao. "He doesn't have any boobs…"

Wang Yao crossed his legs and leaned back, smirking.

"You betraying me there?"

But of course, his dangerous tone was just jest, though it didn't seem that way to Peter.

For a moment, the boy was actually for Im Yong Soo's life.

But Peter was startled when Im Yong Soo just smiled and murmured, "Perhaps. Betraying was invented in Korea after all."

Ivan, who had been quietly observing Peter this whole time, interrupted the antics between Im Yong Soo and Wang Yao.

"Gentlemen." Ivan's silken voice came out softly, accompanied by an equally irking smile. "It's getting late, da? I feel we should let poor Peter there rest until it is… time."

Im Yong Soo pouted. He was just starting to inspect the boy's body though, and was also starting to finally have some fun. He was going to be doing the perverted for once, rather than be the victim…

As for Wang Yao, he only smiled after a bit of thought and stood up.

"All right," he conceded, walking off to the door of the bedroom. On his way out, he grabbed on to the collar of Im Yong Soo's garb and dragged him along also. Im Yong Soo struggled the whole way out, muttering something about how he didn't want to get ass-raped again.

Ivan chuckled darkly and followed suit, turning at the door last minute and turning off the lights. The brightness from outside the door threw a sinister look on Ivan's face as he smiled eerily, further disturbing Peter.

"Sleep well, mой aнгелочек, for this is your last rest for a while…"

With that all comforting thought, Peter rolled over and tried to find some warmth within those oddly cold blankets…

* * *

Antonio wiped the counter slowly, not really paying attention to what he was doing. His mind was far too entertained by the sight near the piano.

Poor Roderich was about to finish his last piece, and Gilbert was getting prepared to attack. That was obvious by his small smirk and continuous winks at the pianist whenever Roderich looked his way by accident.

Arthur wasn't paying any attention to that though, since he was still feeling very devastated over the news that Alfred had brought him himself.

By now, the Englishman had gotten quite drunk, but not so overly drunk that he lost all amount of wit. Just most of it—enough to subdue the pain in his heart.

Arthur glanced up at the clock ticking away on the wall. It was approaching the time for the bar to close…

The Brit moaned, sitting up, or at least trying to. He fell back down to the counter slowly, looking completely out of it.

Antonio shifted his attention to the blond in front of him. He gave Arthur a sympathetic smile and set down a glass of ice-cold water in front of Arthur.

"Things will get better, I assure you," Antonio murmured with a small smile, patting Arthur on the arm.

"Actually, I'm willing to _bet_ you that it will get better."

Antonio winked and laughed softly.

"I'll bet Roderich's virginity on that."

His eyes twinkled, gaze settling on Roderich and Gilbert for just a second. Roderich's song was reaching its last measures, and Gilbert was ready to narrow in for the kill.

Arthur was in no mood to smile at Antonio's joke and only shifted slightly in reply. He reached out and took the glass, willing himself to take a sip.

The cold water stung his raw throat as it slid down, a strong difference from his burning vodka before.

But it felt great, and Arthur downed the cup quickly. He felt a little better, thanking Antonio softly for the cup.

Antonio chuckled and ruffled Arthur's hair lightly.

" 'S alright, amigo," he replied in his slightly accented voice. "We close in fifteen minutes, but until then, I'll give you all the water you need."

It was then that Roderich finished his final piece.

Antonio looked up and smiled, watching the two intently.

Gilbert stood up and straightened his tie jokingly. He walked around his table and approached Roderich with a smirk.

It was obvious that Roderich was uncomfortable, but Gilbert had cornered him, and now he had no chance of escape.

Gilbert reached out and pinned Roderich to the wall, placing his hands to either side of Roderich's head.

"That sure was… a heated piece…" Gilbert murmured in Roderich's ear.

Roderich blushed, highly uncomfortable at the sudden proximity.

"I-I… I don't know what you're talking about…" His voice was soft and a little higher pitched than usual. He averted his eyes to the ground.

But Roderich usually practiced his more extravagant skills when the bar died down for the night, and so that last song that he had played really _was_ heated. It was one of the hardest pieces that Roderich knew, and he practiced it often to keep it in his repertoire. He had thought that it'd be handy to woo Elizaveta with, but she didn't quite have the same taste in music as he did.

And of course, Roderich never thought that it'd pick up a _guy_, and Gilbert of all people.

Gilbert just smirked and leaned in a little further, nipping Roderich in the ear.

Roderich gave a small yelp, but he couldn't do anything against Gilbert, for Gilbert's strength far surpassed his own.

Gilbert pulled back a bit and muttered, "You should see your face. Beet red."

Roderich was just glad that Elizaveta was nowhere to be found; otherwise his pride would have been irreparable.

Antonio had been enjoying watching Gilbert's advances for a bit, but figured that it was his time to interfere just for Roderich's sake. He called out to the empty bar, "All right! The Downpour is now closed!"

And right on cue, Ludwig came out from the back to dispose of any leftover miscreants. He bypassed Arthur, recognizing him as one of his own workers, and went straight to the man in the corner, escorting him out by sheer force. The man didn't resist whatsoever.

As for poor Roderich, Antonio's plan didn't really work.

Gilbert just smiled and glanced at the clock.

"Too bad I've got a date to get to," Gilbert spoke in a dangerously soft tone.

He leaned in a little and just as it seemed like he was going to kiss Roderich's cheek, he switched right to Roderich's lips.

The pianist's eyes widened in alarm, but he was far too shocked to do anything about it.

Gilbert pulled away quickly and dropped his arms. He turned and waved over his shoulder.

"Hope you liked that _first kiss_ of yours~" he called back with a smile. "I'll go slow on you just so my awesomeness doesn't strike you senseless."

With that, he gave Ludwig a passing salute and marched out, almost skipping. Needless to say, hitting on Roderich was going to be his new hobby.

Roderich stood there, stunned for a while after Gilbert had exited. He was finally pulled back by the strong pat that Ludwig gave him, almost sending him tumbling.

The pianist only blushed when he saw that Antonio's twinkling eyes were on him, and escaped to the kitchen where he was sure that Elizaveta would be waiting with a cup of coffee.

Meanwhile, Arthur had managed to stand up with a lot of help from the bar counter. He nodded weakly at Antonio and turned to the door, taking some tentative steps towards it, almost but not quite losing his balance as he made his way out.

Ludwig asked no questions, but started putting up the chairs and cleaning up for the night.

As Arthur passed through the door, a slightly grumpy looking brownish-orange haired man entered in the other direction.

Had Arthur been more aware of himself and his surroundings, and in possession of more energy, he would have told the man that business hours were over.

But sadly, he had no inclination to do so, and made his way off to find some form of shelter.

The man that had passed Arthur was none other than Romano, here to pick up Antonio, even though Antonio had told him that he would simply take the metro back to his own house. They lived separately, after all. Things hadn't gotten _that_ serious between them yet.

Antonio gave Romano a bright smile as Romano approached the counter, though he did say, "I told you I'd take the metro back! You didn't need to come out here to get me…" But Antonio was happy that he could see Romano's face, for otherwise, he would have just gone home for the night and not have seen it until tomorrow, or perhaps even the day after.

Romano glared at the grinning Spanish man and muttered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He crossed his arms and leaned into the counter.

"It's snowing outside. The metro probably is running quite slowly," Romano explained darkly.

Antonio laughed slightly. That was an… interesting excuse, he'd give Romano that, but it was just that. An excuse. Antonio knew Romano better, but he wouldn't say it. Perhaps Romano's stubbornness was the reason why the man found him so awfully cute.

Antonio finished quickly and soon was ready to leave himself. He left behind Romano, a bit startled by how much it had snowed outside. Sure, he had seen a little of it from the bar's windows, but he hadn't been paying much attention, being distracted by the antics within. But now that he saw the amount of accumulation, Antonio was glad that Romano had been so kind as to pick him up.

As Romano drove, Antonio started getting more and more confused.

"Where… are you taking me…?" he asked, highly puzzled. They had missed the turn for his house a while ago.

Romano gave Antonio a passing glare and muttered, "Home. Where else?"

And that's when Antonio realized that they weren't going to his house. They were going to Romano's.

"Such a crafty person you are," he replied with a bright smile and ringing laugh.

Romano only looked straight forward, an annoyed expression on his face, grumpy as usual. A small blush came over his cheeks at having been figured out.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered darkly.

Antonio only smiled in return and leaned back, highly satisfied with this whole situation.

* * *

Arthur had wandered the streets for quite a while in desolation, not sure where to go, or what to do.

He clutched his jacket closer about him, though not able to do that for long, since he had no gloves.

The wind bit his skin, and he felt almost on fire when a strong gust came towards him. His head was completely unprotected, since he hadn't retrieved a hat from the closet when he had been plundering Alfred's house.

Eventually, Arthur came upon Central Park. He must have been wandering down Fifth Avenue for at least fifty minutes, if not an hour. That surprised Arthur, for he had long lost track of time and felt that it had been awfully long, even though he knew the trip would have definitely taken less than three hours, which was what it had felt like.

The Brit wandered around for a bit, feeling more and more weary with each step.

Finally coming on a café that had left its canopy out, Arthur figured that he might as well settle there. At least he couldn't get covered in snow by the end of the storm.

Lying on the ground felt so uncomfortable to the Englishman, but he knew that it was the best he could ask for. There was no use in complaining anyways, since everyone in New York had far too little time to even listen.

His life was moving fast by him, the time was disappearing, and Arthur felt the strong tug of loneliness for the first time in his life.

New York especially was the worst place to be when a person was homeless, since everyone was always in so much of a rush that barely anyone ever even stopped to give some change… Even though it was a place where fortunes got made, it was also a place where opportunity never came to those that were homeless, much like Arthur.

With that not so comforting thought added to the weight of his misery over Alfred, Arthur managed to fall into a light and restless sleep, tossing and turning around quite a bit, feeling colder and colder as the night went on…

* * *

Author's Comments:

Hey! So I'm sorry that it's taken me a while to update, but FanFiction hasn't allowed me to add another file for some reason, and so I had to go have this long winding conversation stuff, then go in circles, then end up nowhere, then go and do it myself by replacing the whole Chapter 15 file with this chapter (text-wise).

Whew! So. I hope you guys like this chapter! I'm sorry that not much has happened, but I figured that it was a good time to add a couple side pairings in there~

Oh, and a couple of people have asked me, before the update, whether or not I was dropping this thing, and so, I will tell you all that I will _never_ drop something! I see everything to the end, I promise. You can hold me to that later, though I know that there won't be need to hold me to that anyways. xD

Life update on the author (not that you all care): I just started voice acting recently, and my first role is an odd one, I must say. Mokona from Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles? I mean, yeah, I sing really, really, _really_ high, but I speak quite low. I have to stretch my speaking voice to do Mokona...

But enough about me! Again, thank you all for having stuck with me thus far! I love you all! Oh, and sorry for the long Hetalia Commentary this time, but I got carried away... especially with Im Yong Soo.

See you again next chapter!

- Galythia

P.S. Nothing Short of Pride got the last question right! The movie I had referenced to was the new Sherlock Holmes movie, at the whole part with the "key to Peter's release" thing. If you haven't watched that, then watch it! I barely watch any movies myself, yet I loved that movie! xD

I need to start working on those prizes! I got the first one off, and the second one is under works. But I just switched into newer and harder classes, not to mention that I have sooo much to do! I'm sooo busy, but I'll try to get them out as soon as I can!

New question:

Take: the fifth letter of the name of Alfred's ahoge, the fourth letter of the name of Alfred's glasses, the first letter of the name of Alfred's alien friend, the third letter of Lithuania's name, the fifth letter of that girl with the fish and red ribbons, and the second letter of Belarus's last name... then unscramble them all to reveal the name we all should know! Tell me what that name is.


	18. Chapter 17

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 17

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Kiku:** x/////x How unbecoming! G-Galythia, why?

**Francis:** Oh calm down... Galythia, don't mind him. I like where you're going with this. Though of course it'd be a lot better if you were a bit more... _descriptive_.

**Arthur: **Will you shut up?! Poor Peter is stuck with Kiku!

**Kiku: **Say anything else and I will annihilate you.

**Arthur: **Oh, so not only are you planning on raping my younger brother, but you're planning on murdering me too? In the name of the Queen, what did I ever do to deserve such?!

**Alfred:** Iggy, calm. I'll swoop in and save you all in the end. I promise. :D

**Peter: **I'd trust him, Arthur. I mean, you should trust those that you love right?

**Arthur: **How are _you_ so calm about this? Aren't you _straddling _a man at the moment?!

**Francis:** *sigh* Wish I was there...

**Ivan: **Well, you were there once, remember? When Arthur and I were married~

**Arthur: **No! Don't say a—

**Ivan: **I think even the neighbors heard your moans... I mean, even though you were tied and gagged, you still were really riding that—

**Galythia: **Okay! That's a different story all together! -_-"

* * *

Alfred woke up early and fresh in the morning, reinvigorated by his newfound love. He never thought that being in love would be that great, or at least he thought that he was in love before, but it never really felt as great as people told him it would. But now… now that he had a taste of what true love felt like, Alfred knew that he'd never feel the same thing again for anyone else.

The American felt like doing something, but when he had run out of that bar last night, looking intent on a plan, he actually had nothing.

And now he found himself pacing around, not really knowing what to do. There were many choices, of course, but he didn't want to take action that would jeopardize the situation even more…

Then it came to him, and he ran to the phone, dialing up his boss. Luckily, his boss was currently free of meetings and answered the phone with a brusque "Hello?"

"Hi, sir. It's Alfred. I… umm… I was wondering, you see, if I actually _have to_ take on that new case involving… Ivan Braginski. I'm a little busy and—"

He was cut off by a couple of loud and harsh words from the other end. Alfred's boss had never been one who was 'nice.'

Alfred winced, listening to the volley of words, knowing that what he was asking for was getting more and more impossible as time passed.

"Sir, I know, but I—"

He was cut off yet again. His boss was yelling something about how Ivan was one of the richest clients that they had ever gotten, and how Ivan was probably involved in some illegal dealings to have gotten that rich, and how his boss didn't care if that was the case or not. Alfred got the idea. Ivan had money. Any amount of money it would take to win. And the boss wanted money.

There was really nothing Alfred could do.

"I understand, sir." With that, Alfred hung up the phone dejectedly and resigned himself to a bottle of coke.

That had been really his only plan… Well, his only plan that didn't involve a great deal of work… But here he was, sitting on his couch with only one choice left. He had to continue conducting business and learning from Ivan, while trying to find Arthur in the process.

Alfred wouldn't give up on finding Arthur, if not only to tell him the day of the court case, since it would be terrible if Arthur didn't show up. That would make things far more complicated than they needed to be, and they were already quite complicated as it was.

Alfred picked up his phone again and quickly dialed Ivan, not really sure how to approach the man now that he knew the man had some deep relationship with Arthur.

"Hello?" Ivan answered, sounding a little annoyed, seeming like he had been interrupted in the middle of something important.

Alfred balked a little, but with a quick reminder that he was always the hero in everything, he managed to get back on track with what he was intending to say.

Quickly, he scheduled a meeting with Ivan at Feliciano's Fettuccine once again in about an hour, and Ivan brusquely hung up afterwards, leaving Alfred with the strong impression that Ivan _was_ really involved in something dangerous for a living, and most probably not legal.

With that, Alfred got up and started getting dressed, faced with the first morning in quite a while when Arthur's scowl wouldn't be there to greet him.

* * *

Peter woke with a start, looking around in slight confusion to see just what that was that was creeping around his chest.

The light was shining down brightly at him from above, though in his temporary state of disorientation, Peter couldn't tell if that was artificial or actual sunlight. He had temporarily even forgotten where he was, and the recent chain of events.

But Peter quickly snapped back when Im Yong Soo, who had sensed Peter's sudden movement, moved his hand away.

"Sorry," the Korean pouted, "Did I wake you?"

Peter's hands instinctively rushed up to protect his chest from any perverted advances, but only one hand really made it there. His other arm was jolted back by the cuffs keeping him to the bed.

He gave a yelp of pain, feeling his muscles stretch and his joints possibly crack.

When he recovered, he sent Im Yong Soo a teary eyed glare. Who did that man think he was, barging into Peter's quarters and feeling him all over?

Im Yong Soo only smiled brightly and winked.

"I don't think he'll like it if you're angry. Better get rid of that now," Im Yong Soo informed happily and almost skipped out the room.

In the distance, Peter heard him repeat brightly, "Master Yao! Master Yao!"

With a little more time to reflect, Peter's thoughts first fled to the fact that he was chained to the bed in a house full of pedophilic creepers. What a comforting thought.

Though he was thirteen, he definitely didn't feel like it at the moment. All he wanted was to be back with Arthur. Even though Arthur's cooking sucked, at least Peter wouldn't have been eating… other things…

Peter knew that that would not happen soon though. He knew that there was still a court case for Arthur to duke out, and the chances of Arthur actually winning it was quite… slim.

The thought was grim, and Peter pushed it away before it could further affect him. The prospects of what was to happen next gave him enough to worry about as it was.

Just then, there sounded a knock on the door. Peter whirled around, vigilant eyes settling on the door. He winced, regretting the fast movement, for it had twisted his handcuffed arm in an odd way.

Wang Yao appeared in the doorway, stepping not one pace past the threshold. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small crafty smirk on his lips.

"I won't play games with you aru. _He_ will take care of that later."

Yao walked over to the rack by the door where the keys hung and picked them up on his way over to the bed.

"It's only my job to retrieve you and prepare you for the job—as a favor for Ivan," Yao added, wanting to make sure that he definitely wasn't doing this because he wanted to.

Well, he wanted to definitely see and partake in the ending result, but he didn't want to do any of the work involved to get Peter to that level…

But Ivan had cut him a quick deal involving a huge amount of cocaine, worth at least $20,000, showing just how desperate Ivan had been. Apparently, the Russian was far too busy thinking of wily ways to torture Peter's older brother even further. Not to mention the fact that his lawyer had called him up to schedule their first in depth meeting. The Russian had rushed off just about fifteen minutes ago. Well, _rushed_ in relative terms. Ivan always took his time, doing his best to be in control and looking calm. To most, Ivan _never_ rushed, but to those who were with him long enough, like Wang Yao, he had been in quite a hurry when he left, scarf fixed slightly wrong.

Yao leaned down and quickly released Peter, who knew better than to try and escape. There really was no point in doing so until he learned the configuration of the house and his situation a little better, anyways. Peter had read far too many detective novels, and he knew well the theory of a good escape.

Yao led Peter out of the room and down the hall, not caring if the boy saw where he was going or not. Yao figured that there would be no chance of escape after they were in The Room anyways.

Wang Yao saw no point in it, but Ivan had asked him to disorient the boy as much as possible, and here he was, leading Peter in what he saw to be unnecessary loops. So much wasted time.

But it was effective, at least, for Peter eventually found himself lost in what he viewed to be a maze of a house. The Hardy Boys had newfound respect in his heart now.

Eventually, they came upon a nondescript door on the side of the hall, no different than the other doors that lined the hall on either side.

It eluded Peter as to how Yao knew that this was the door, considering every single hall looked like the others, and every door looked like the others.

_Perhaps he'll get lost too…_

But that thought dissipated the moment he saw what was inside the room. It was almost like a car wash in certain ways, considering that there were people with brushes and soap on either side of a long and winding bathtub, which ended on the other side of the room near a rack of towels, more people, and a cabinet.

Peter paled. Who were all of these _women_? What did they have to do with his predicament? And why did he get the sneaking suspicion that there were no good pieces of clothing in that cabinet?

Wang Yao relinquished hold on Peter's arm and elbow and turned around, not wanting to waste further time with Ivan's petty wants. He left and locked the door behind him, wanting to quickly get back to his own pet Korean.

Peter looked around him, feeling suddenly alone now that the Chinaman was gone. At least that had been someone he had known from before, even if Yao was probably a felon wanted in seventeen different countries, all for raping children, especially freshman high school students like Peter.

But now he found himself in a room with no familiar faces. No one to glare at. No one to hold deep resentment against.

Peter didn't move at all, from the spot where Wang Yao had left him, and when the women closest to him sensed that, they seized him before he could blink and placed him within the bathtub.

Peter gasped at the surprising strength of these women as he was held down and attacked with soap and sponges. He tried to claw his way out, but resistance only added to his troubles by getting soapsuds in his eyes and mouth. Peter had no choice but to calm himself down and face whatever was in for at the clutches of Arthur's ex-husband and his cohorts.

* * *

Arthur was awoken early in the morning by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He snapped awake, bringing his hands up in defense quickly.

The man who had been trying to wake him jumped back a little, startled by the sudden reaction. But he quickly recovered and smiled, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Hello," he murmured softly to Arthur.

Arthur blinked a couple times to clear his vision, and he found that five heads finally merged into one.

In front of him was a man of fairly tanned skin with slightly long brown hair. At least, it was longer than most of the people Arthur knew. He held a really relaxed countenance, his gentle smile having a calming effect on most of those around him.

Green eyes—with a little more blue than Arthur's, possibly more teal—patiently peered down at Arthur as Arthur assessed the man in front of him.

Arthur realized that he knew this man, though not that well at all. This man and Sadiq had only started coming to the bar in recent times, when Arthur was no longer on duty at the busy hours. And so, Arthur had a good chance of not being recognized, and he thanked god dearly for that.

Arthur finally muttered, "Excuse me, but who are you?" Feigning complete ignorance was the best choice the Brit saw.

The Englishman sat up, knocking off the rest of the snow that had collected on his hair. He had brushed most of it off when his arms had flailed around upon waking up though.

The man stood up to give Arthur some space as he tried to gather himself for the day.

"Heracles Karpusi," the man answered nonchalantly, continuing directly to his next point, "You're sleeping right in front of the door to my café."

Arthur gave Heracles a slightly bemused and confused look before standing up himself, not having much to gather together in the first place. He brushed the dirt and snow off of him, feeling quite cold due to the night spent outside.

Without a word, Arthur started off slowly, not sure where he would go for the day. But a firm grip on Arthur's arm stopped him. The Brit turned around and found Heracles smiling slightly at him. Arthur raised one eyebrow questioningly and waited for an explanation.

"You know, I know almost every beggar in this area of Madison Ave, and I haven't seen you around… You look slightly familiar, but… I can't really say where I knew you from… You've probably passed hereabouts before…"

When Arthur didn't reply to clarify exactly where they had previously met or encountered each other, Heracles continued, undeterred.

"So you're not officially a beggar on this area of Madison Ave until you've had an initiation cup of my coffee…"

With that, Arthur found himself dragged into the café by a surprisingly strong pull. Heracles's build was muscular, but very subtly so.

Arthur was placed in a chair, and he figured that there was no point in leaving if he had been invited inside under the pretext of a beggar. Well, it wasn't so much of a pretext now as something that Arthur just needed to get used to. It was his new way of life. At least there would be shelter for the day, away from the biting winds that often began and followed New York City snowstorms.

The shop was open and brightly decorated. The walls were of a very subtle yellow pastel color with dark mustard colored stripes lining the bottom. The whole front side of the shop was basically a large window with a door in the middle, save for the little wall piece that lined it, two feet off the ground or so. It provided for a lot of natural lighting in the café.

There were tables scattered everywhere in an orderly manner, and Arthur had been placed in one of the corners, since Heracles had the foresight to see that Arthur would probably remain for a large part of the day, if not the whole day.

The counter was at the back of the shop, to the left when one entered. On the right was a large open shelving area filled with miscellaneous items, mostly antiques just used to decorate the room and create good ambiance. There was an olden jewelry weighing balance scale, a couple pince-nez scattered here and there, and various records, tattered books, odd lamp pieces, and shells and coral from some faraway sea.

Overall, the area was quite relaxing, smelling a little like Starbucks but looking a lot more open and feeling a lot more warm than those corporately controlled shops. Arthur abhorred those places for he felt that they were far too high held and full of themselves. Starbucks was never that great to the Englishman, and Arthur was sure that he'd never come to see it as great either.

A cat walked up to Arthur and rubbed herself against Arthur's shoe, seeming to like the Brit. Arthur tried to ignore the cat, never one that was so fond of animals much… well, he used to be fond of them, only because the woodland faeries had strongly influenced him in such a way. But ever since his mother died, Arthur had never felt strongly towards animals ever again.

The cat was soon joined by various others though, until Arthur had a small bunch of them gathered collectively at both of his feet. There were about seven of them by the time Heracles came back, cup of coffee in hand.

The Greek man chuckled at the sight and placed the cup down next to Arthur's arm. The Brit himself was trying his best to ignore the constant rubbing against his pants and shoes, but his will was slowly deteriorating. It was only a matter of time before he kicked all of them away…

As Heracles walked off to the counter to prepare the shop for the rest of the day, he added over his shoulder, "You know, those cats are especially attracted to the devastation of the soul. Apparently, you have some heartbreak issues."

Arthur sent him a dark glare that made him silent immediately, even though he sent Arthur a small smile before going off into the back room. Being right was all that Heracles ever asked for, anyways.

The Englishman sighed. Not only could Antonio and strangers know all this about him, but cats too? Was Arthur's sadness and heartbreak really that obvious?

With a resigned expression, Arthur slowly sipped the coffee—which he found to be quite bitter, but was too polite to say anything about it—and stared abstractedly out the window at the large crowds of people hurrying from place to place, never having much time for themselves, let alone anyone else…

With the corners of his lips turned down slightly in a small frown, Arthur once again realized that he was alone now. Completely alone. New York was truly the worst place to be homeless, since no one cared whatsoever. There were too many homeless. There was too little time.

* * *

Ivan sat down at the table right on time. The lawyer, on the other hand, still hadn't arrived yet.

Alfred was rushing to get there, but he couldn't help the fact that his morning was thrown off because Arthur wasn't there. That wasn't to say that he couldn't drive or that he forgot how t; it was just the sentimental feeling of not having Arthur there, making small gruff comments at his ramblings on.

Alfred arrived about five minutes late, which he thought wasn't bad at all, considering how he had left with a projection of being twenty minutes late.

Sitting down at the table across from Ivan, Alfred apologized for being late. The Russian brushed it away with a smile. Perhaps it seemed _too_ harmless of a smile. Alfred felt a shiver run down his spine as he opened his suitcase.

Ordering a coffee, he then turned to Ivan. Alfred felt far too… uncomfortable at the moment to actually make this a long and winding conversation like he did with most other clients. Knowing that Ivan was somehow tied to Arthur in a way that would let him legally gain custody of Peter, and not to mention that eerie smile that Ivan was now giving him, made Alfred feel quite odd. He didn't like it.

Getting right to the point, he asked, "Sir… Ivan, if I may." Ivan nodded, and Alfred continued, "I would like to get to know the situation a little. Gain knowledge of the history between you and Arth—Mr. Kirkland." The familiarity had almost made him slip. _Be more professional. You're a lawyer. A good one. A hero,_ he reminded himself.

Ivan's lips curled into a slight smirk, his eyes glowing just a little from the anticipation of being able to unveil this story.

"I shall start from when I was… twenty two," Ivan replied, "I had been living in New York for quite some time already, for money was never an issue. I had my various ways of getting money, and that was all I really needed. I lived in a grand house, a mark of my wealth, and spent many of my days just wandering to find something interesting to do."

Alfred had already known that the man was rich, and the story so far was nothing surprising to him. Still, he took avid notes anyways.

"And that's when I came upon a bar in which Art was working. We struck up many conversations with each other, and I soon took interest in him. It was a little sad, though, to see just how much the boy was in love with _me._"

Alfred felt his heart stop for a moment. So this was a_ romantic_ relationship. He had suspected something of the sort, but didn't really want to think about it now with his newfound feelings of love himself.

Alfred regained control of his thoughts and gestured for Ivan, who had been patiently watching him clutch his pen, not writing at all, to continue.

"He found out that I was quite well off and fell for me even more. And since he needed that money—his parents are gone, you see, and he has to take care of his younger brother—he soon started talking about marriage."

Alfred swallowed. So it was Arthur's idea to get married. He had expected that Ivan had somehow enforced it on the Englishman, but apparently, this whole situation was Arthur's doing instead.

"I had been married and divorced a couple times by then, and so I didn't care if I didn't love him or not. He took my interest, and that's all I really needed. We went over to Massachusetts to get married, since you know perfectly well that it's not legal in New York to do so. He was only twenty at the time, and I twenty-two."

Ivan took a small sip of his curious drink, letting Alfred jot down and contemplate his words thus far. It would have looked like water to anyone else, since it was in a generic water bottle, but of course, it was vodka. Ivan held a strong love for vodka, and usually would not leave the house without a small supply.

When Alfred stopped writing, Ivan continued.

"Our marriage lasted no more than nine months. I had taken an interest to another woman who worked at a club down the street, and that brought Art to a strong bout of jealousy. In one of his many tirades against me and my 'promiscuousness,' he finally called the divorce."

Ivan sighed, crossing his arms on the table and leaning into them.

"It was a pity to see the boy go… But I knew that I couldn't keep him. It would have been too much. And so, we divorced."

Ivan again smiled eerily at Alfred, who was trying his best to ignore the expression to write down the last parts of the story.

He was about to comment when Ivan continued some more, answering Alfred's next question in the process.

"But I missed him. Even if I didn't love him, I must admit, he was great in bed," Ivan commented, his eyes distant as if he was remembering a fond moment.

Alfred blushed, pushing that thought away. He would pretend to not hear that. But all his attempts were in vain as Ivan elaborated.

"Especially his expressions… his moans were so cute! And he reacted perfectly to those ropes and gags, not to mention that favorite toy of _ours_. Oh, I think bondage is his calling…"

Alfred's blush darkened, having stopped his writing long ago.

Ivan looked up, smirking at how he was making the lawyer react. He hadn't actually intended for that to happen, but that was an added bonus.

"You're cute when you blush," he commented nonchalantly.

Alfred looked away and regained himself as quickly as he could. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Ivan with as professional an expression as he could currently muster.

"So… Why do you want Peter under your care?" Alfred asked, trying to divert the subject.

Ivan smiled, knowing exactly what Alfred was doing. But he went with it anyways.

"After giving him a miraculous hand job when he drove me back to my house," Ivan started. He brightened suddenly and added, "Thank you for that, by the way. He drove me back on your request, right?"

Alfred swallowed. Oh dear god… But he had to argue to himself that in his defense, he hadn't known of the connection back then. Still, to know that he enforced such a bad situation on Arthur made Alfred very, very guilty. His heart wrenched in pain, but he forced himself to continue.

Ivan chuckled and went on, "So after that _absolutely divine_ time in that car, I realized that I came to miss his bedtime mannerisms. He was a good toy to have around. I had been planning on how to get him back for a while, but when I was called about Peter and the house burning down, I knew that that was a perfect opportunity. Peter is the most important person to him. I could use that as bait. And so, that's why I need Peter under my legal custody."

The innocent smile that accompanied that last statement was shudder inducing to the lawyer as he contemplated his situation. This was going to be a tough case to defend. He hoped that he could do something about it all before he would actually be forced to defend it. Alfred knew that even though this situation was a very different one, and therefore very tough for him to handle, against Arthur, who had no lawyer whatsoever, it would be an easy win nonetheless.

The way that Ivan had explained it all caused Alfred to feel just a little anger. This man almost treated Arthur as a worthless item, only useful sexually, whereas Alfred _loved_ the man in question, even though he had just realized that recently. And throughout all of this, Arthur had been hurt again and again.

Alfred hated the fact that he was on the side of someone so base and wretched, but money was money. He was sure that his bosses wouldn't see differently about this no matter what the situation was.

Alfred cleaned up the speech a little in his mind and jotted the important points down.

Not sure how to respond, he sat there quietly, sipping his coffee and contemplating the situation. The lawyer was acutely aware of the pair of violet eyes that had settled upon him, observing his every action.

At last, he managed to respond, "That's all, Mr. Braginski."

Without a reply, Ivan stood up. Giving his lawyer one last creepy smile, he swept off out the door, scarf flowing behind him.

Alfred stared after the man for a while, finally turning to the window instead. He closed the suitcase and just sat there, sipping slowly at the coffee in his hands, not really tasting nor seeing anything.

The lawyer's mind was on other things completely, swirling in a mix of anger and disgust for his client, but also strong feelings of pity and sadness, not to mention love for his client's opponent.

This was getting much more convoluted than he ever though it would be—than he ever wanted it to be.

* * *

Peter was pushed carelessly into the adjacent room from the one with all the women. He found himself blindfolded and dressed in something itchy, though he didn't know what.

Peter tried to remain calm under the disorientation of the blindfold, but it was difficult considering that he had no idea where he was. Not to mention the disturbing mewling sounds he was hearing from the far side. At least, he thought that was mewling.

The thirteen-year-old boy knew enough from detective novels to not move until he got a better sense of his surroundings.

_Listen… feel the ground with your feet… taste the air—_

His last thought was cut short by a voice from the far side. Peter could tell that whoever was talking was smiling… but it was a sinister and cunning smile of a criminal mastermind. And it was the voice of someone that Peter had yet to meet.

"You know, licking the air will only make me rethink my mercy for you…"

Peter froze. He stiffened when the voice then bid him to approach. How was he supposed to know where to go if he couldn't see? But thinking that it was best to obey the voice than to suffer the consequences, he moved forward tentatively.

Finally, Peter tripped over an unexpected foot and landed right on the lap of someone. At least, it seemed like a lap. Peter felt around a little to make sure, his hand brushing over a slight bulge… _bulge... What does tha—_ Peter pulled his hands away, it finally dawning on him just what that meant.

But it was far too late. A hand caught both of his wrists in a firm grip and pulled him up. Before Peter knew it, he was straddling the stranger, both hands tied together and put over the man's head so that Peter's arms were encircling the man's neck.

Peter blushed and tried to get away, but strong hands kept him where he was, unable to escape.

"W-Who are you?" Peter asked in a shaky voice, looking where he knew was not the man's face, even if he couldn't see anything at all.

The voice chuckled. It was deeper than anyone that Peter had yet to meet in his hellish place, and it was also soothing. It was the voice of a person who never yelled, no matter how angry he got. It was that type of person that scared Peter the most.

"My name is Honda Kiku, young one," the voice murmured. Peter could still hear that smile clearly.

Peter felt the hands on his waist lower to his bottom. He couldn't help the instinctive shudder that coursed through him as he was forced to sit on the man's lap in such an erotic fashion. Peter was also starting to get a sneaking suspicion that his clothing was not typical male everyday clothing either.

"Where a—" Peter started, but was cut off by a finger on his lips.

"Shh. Your job has started. Don't speak unless spoken to," Kiku instructed in a low and dangerous voice.

With that, Peter found himself shifted a little so that he was slightly to the side, though still partially straddling the man's lap.

"Let my first client in," Kiku murmured grandly.

Peter heard the door open and someone enter.

Kiku's hand slowly played with the meager clothing covering the small of Peter's back as he spoke to his client. Peter tried to listen at first, hoping for some clues about his whereabouts, but after hearing the words "she didn't even complain when I took her from behind," Peter tried to do the opposite. Tune out.

But from the snippets that he gained from the first conversation, Peter could tell that he was on the lap of someone very, _very_ powerful and revered by those that approached him. He also could see that this man on whom he was sitting was involved in something very shady. Not even a question about its legality. It was _definitely _illegal.

This man… Kiku, was it? He seemed to sell pets… well, at least train them and lend them out to people—rent them out. But Peter got the strong feeling that these pets were not typical animals…

Peter tensed when the first client mentioned the 'wonderful new addition' sitting on Kiku's lap. Was something going to happen to him? Was he being _considered_?

Though Peter definitely didn't found his current position comfortable, he knew that it was at least better than being in the hands of some other stranger that he didn't know for an indefinite amount of time.

He was actually relieved when he heard Kiku reply that 'this one' was his own personal pet, loaned from a 'dear friend.' Ivan, no doubt.

_Oh dear god…_ Peter didn't want to think about what he was going to have to go through until Arthur came and saved him—_if _Arthur came at all.

This was going to be a long day… or perhaps it was the night. Either way, Peter knew that he wouldn't like it.

* * *

Alfred had returned home some time after seven, having gone in search for Arthur again, but to no avail. New York City was far too large a place to have good chances of finding Arthur.

Alfred decided that he would resign to the case for the day and try again tomorrow. He would try every day for as long as possible until the day of the case. By then, if he hadn't found Arthur, there was really no more point. The case would be over. And Alfred knew for sure that unless Arthur obtained a lawyer, he would lose. The cards were piled against Alfred's ex-chauffeur, and so, Alfred knew, he had to find Arthur. Find Arthur and come up with a plan. Or at least find Arthur and give him a lawyer's card or something.

But the day was over and it was dark outside. It was yet another day where no progress was made on how Alfred wanted things to turn out. Another day wasted.

With that discouraging thought, Alfred set to immerse himself in unrelated work. Best not to think about the matter for a while.

* * *

Arthur left the café when it was time for the shop to close. Heracles apologized for having to kick him out, but Arthur thought nothing of it as he walked away with one last cup of coffee warm in his hands.

Nothing had happened the whole day except for a lot of time for idiotic contemplation.

Arthur knew that he had never felt so helpless and lonely in his life. Not only was this New York, the land where no one ever had time, but this was also the place where beggars never really went anywhere at all. Once a bum, always a bum. That meant that Arthur would have to contend with this lifestyle for a while… perhaps for the rest of his life.

Even though Arthur counted himself as smart and relatively skilled at all that he did, and even though he considered himself to be optimistic and hard working, even he knew that the case was going to be almost an impossible one to win under his current circumstances.

And with this new life, there was far too much time to sit around contemplating that truth and reality.

The Brit found another awning of a closed shop what was sheltered from the biting wind and decided to make camp there.

Quickly, Arthur drifted off to another restless sleep, haunted by his inability to do anything about his current situation and by the fact that Peter was in the clutches of one of the most dangerous people in the nation. Arthur knew that full well from experience.

* * *

Author's Comments: 

Whew! So both because it is fast approaching Valentine's Day (tomorrow) and because I haven't updated in forever, I have made this officially the longest chapter yet, beating out the previous highest one by almost three thousand words.

So now the mysteries are unraveled! You all have learned about the past between Ivan and Arthur, and you have also learned Ivan's motives... MWAHAHAHAHA!

The end is in sight, I assure you. I have planned the story to the end, and I tell you that the end is near. By near, I mean that this will end before we reach Chapter 25.

I hope that you all liked this update, and I apologize for the lack of angst. There can't be angst all the time, you know (though I wish there could be).

Oh, and for those of you who were asking, this is definitely not my last fanfic (it's my first!), though my next one may not be Hetalia related. I'm playing between two ideas at the moment, one of which is Hetalia related (and a tragedy), while the other is Shwatsonlock (Sherlock and Watson) and not a tragedy. My contemplation shall continue! Though it'd be nice if you all dropped in a word to tell me what you all think.

- Galythia

P.S. Congrats to randomnessgirl for getting the previous one right. It was unscrambled to "Arthur." I hope that you all know that name well, otherwise something has been terribly wrong with my fic.

I've barely had time to send out prizes, and I'm currently working on hers, but I'm so busy! -_-"

Anyways! This is going to be a tough one, I think... Well, at least, it took me a while to come up with.

**Who is the dubbed Man Maid in Hetalia, and why?**

Good luck~**  
**


	19. Chapter 18

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 18

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Alfred: **Arthur! Poor you! I'm sure I will be the hero soon! After all, I seem to have a plan for somethi—WHAT?!

**Arthur: **Will you be_ quiet_?! I'm trying to get over the fact that Peter's basically getting raped!

**Alfred: **Hey, I'm not sure you see this, but what's this about me DYING?! WHERE THE HELL DOES THAT COME IN?! WHAT IN THE NAME OF—

**Peter: ***rolls eyes* Grow up, you big baby. America can't die. Sad as _that_ seems...

**Alfred: **And what do you have against this hero?

**Peter: **Umm... Hello! You broke my brother's heart! You have me straddling a Japanese man's lap, basically naked. YOU ARE THE LAWYER AGAINST ARTHUR! What reason have I to _not _hate you?

**Francis: **Guys, guys! I'm sure we have better things to do... Such as talking to Kiku to see if I can get in on all of _that_ over there... *smirk*

**Arthur:** Mark my words, you _frog_. The next World War, you will go DOWN.

**Francis: ***smiles quietly* It's been a while since a man's _ordered_ me to give head...

**Peter: **o.o Arthur... what does that mean...?

**Francis: **It's good that you ask... You see, when a man loves men—

**Arthur: **If you mention another word, I'll have you tied up! *fumes*

**Ivan:** Arthur! I had no idea you were into such... things. I'll be sure to contact Kiku. Seems that my training way back when still hasn't worn off, has it? *smirk*

* * *

For the next couple of days, Alfred worked diligently at gathering together materials for the case, acting like he would if the case were really to happen. But in the end, he still hoped that he wouldn't have to put a use to the information that he was gathering.

The lawyer contacted Ivan about three or four more times to go over facts and learn more, though all of those meetings were conducted with a sort of perfunctory feel to them. Alfred was only doing this because he was forced to, otherwise he would lose his job.

Ivan, on the other hand, was quite eager, thinking that Alfred was actually into this. And Ivan knew full well, just as Alfred did, that if the case actually went through, there was next to no chance of Arthur having a victory. Actually, Alfred was willing to bet money that Arthur would lose, no matter what he did—and the lawyer wasn't happy about that fact.

Alfred had even considered sabotaging the whole thing, but in the end, he knew that too much was at risk. In truth, he didn't care much about his job as much as he cared about the power that his job gave him.

It was actually quite a bad catch-22. If Alfred stuck with the case as he was doing now, for the sake of the power of his job, then no doubt he would win against Arthur. That not only meant causing Arthur a terrible loss, but the relationship between the two of them would probably be damaged forever—not that it wasn't damaged already. After all, the last memory that Arthur had of Alfred was a no remorse firing from Arthur's job…

That thought brought Alfred some great pain as he sat there mulling over some more legal papers. And now that Alfred had had plenty of time to reflect on it, not to mention realize that he was _in love_, Alfred regretted his action with every fiber of his being.

Alfred knew that he had a temper, but this was the first time that he had ever felt so bad about the results… All of this regret wasn't helped by the fact that Alfred knew the Englishman was currently homeless, and no doubt, out of a job.

As the needle of guilt punctured his heart even further, Alfred willed himself to return to his papers.

_This is just in case_, he reminded himself_. Just in case…_

The other side of the catch was just as bad. If he chose to forego this case and lose—which he knew that he could do quite well if he actually tried—then he would be out of a job, and therefore have less power and money, not to mention time, to go find Arthur. He would then probably go search for another job instead of finding a stretch to search for Arthur.

His role as a lawyer gave him access to powerful people who could probably pull any strings that he ever wanted to be pulled. At least, any political and law-related strings. Alfred didn't know anyone that could deal with such an… interesting person as Ivan though. Of course, he now wished that he knew someone physically powerful enough…

During the past couple of days, Alfred had come to learn more about the Russian that was his client, and frankly, he was amazed at how Arthur even came to be involved with such a dangerous man… Obviously, Arthur had come into the relationship not knowing about _all_ of Ivan's background. But once they were married, and Arthur believing that he was in love, adding the little fact of a mafia-like background wouldn't probably affect the relationship much.

Actually, when Alfred had first found out about his client's dangerous and illegal activities, not to mention Ivan's association with the Yakuza of Japan and Sanhehui—or Triad—of China, he endeavored to bring it up to his boss, in hopes that that was enough of a reason for the case to be dropped. But his boss was far too steeped in the thoughts of big money to be swayed by such a _'trifling'_ thing—to use his boss's words—as a couple murders here and there and a couple large circulation drug syndicates.

And so, Alfred was sent back into his research and preparation, no mercy shown by his boss.

_It's amazing what money can do to people…_ Up until now, Alfred had actually thought of his boss as a somewhat moralistic person. But apparently, his boss was quite corrupt deep down.

Not happy with that fact either, Alfred continued preparation…

… Until he finally found himself on the day of the case.

* * *

Arthur didn't do much for the next few days. He simply sat around, not knowing what to do. He didn't even know when the case was. But somehow, Arthur knew that he wouldn't be allowed to miss this case. Whether it was Alfred who made sure of that or Ivan was something that had yet to be seen.

But Arthur wished that he had at least a worry of that to occupy his mind, since he found himself reduced to either speaking with pigeons or thinking about Peter in Ivan's hands. He much preferred to have nice confabulations with the little pesky birds. Those pests that defecated over any and every surface were at least better than thinking about what horrendous acts Peter could be subjected to.

Many days, Arthur even wandered around in search of a suitable place to sleep, occupying his mind with that all too important task. It was such a disgusting thought to the Englishman to think that it was a priority to him to find good _ground_ to sleep on—that he actually wandered New York for hours to find somewhere good.

Arthur had also started his career as a beggar, doing what he could to gather money. But it was much harder than he had ever thought—and he had _never_ thought that it was easy, having almost been at that stage in his life many times. Of course, he never thought that he would actually ever find himself an official _homeless_.

_Guess there's a first for everything…_

He hadn't been let off his job at the bar yet, but there were many factors preventing him from showing up there to claim his rightful pay and do his duty as a bartender.

First of all, he would have to ask for a new uniform—which wouldn't have been that bad had he been even relatively well dressed. But Arthur was currently in rags with splotches of sewage and whatnot on him. There were countless unidentified brown marks on his clothing from god only knows what…

Secondly, though Arthur had basically been reduced to naught, he still at least had his pride. Brits were quite dignified, and Arthur was no different. He didn't want the people at work to see him like this, even if he was never that social of a person. How could he ever even step foot in there again while still maintaining his honor?

Lastly, he knew that if he even took one step in there, he would be discharged from his job immediately. Arthur didn't think that he was quite ready yet to be dismissed from yet another job so soon. He could still barely contend with the whole Alfred fiasco…

And if he wasn't laid off, he would probably not have been recognized, and therefore kicked out, since beggars weren't allowed within Downpour. Ludwig made sure of that.

With all the measly money he had, Arthur tried to find stores that would even let the likes of him loiter around enough to get some food and possibly attain some shelter while he was at it.

In the end, after being kicked out of many places, sometimes even literally, Arthur learned that the best place—and possibly the _only _place—that he could find food and shelter for at least an hour or so was Heracles's café.

And when Arthur was inside, eating a cookie or something small, for that was all he could afford, he always seemed to attract the love of Heracles's multiple cats.

On this especially overcast day, that was no different. All the cats knew his scent—which was a stench of the sewers—well enough that even the one asleep in the corner would wake, come to him, then fall asleep next to his feet.

Arthur feared that it would rain, and though he had no money on him, he hoped that Heracles would have enough kindness to let him just sit in there for a little. Luckily, Heracles didn't seem to notice his entrance, or at least acted like he hadn't, and Arthur sat himself down in the corner at his usual place.

But his bottom had barely brushed the chair when he tensed. There was something terribly wrong about the situation.

Arthur looked to his right at the door and his eyes widened.

In marched Ivan, looking as suspiciously _innocent_ as ever, quickly approaching Arthur.

With his trademark sinister 'or else' smile, Ivan stood right in front of Arthur (who had stood himself back up) and requested softly but demandingly, "Come."

It wasn't like Arthur had a choice anyways of whether to follow Ivan's words. To the dismay of himself—and the cats—Ivan clasped a hard grasp around Arthur's wrist and dragged him out of the café.

Arthur held no surprise at having been found. Ivan had connections everywhere. Arthur was quite sure that Ivan would have been able to tell exactly _which_ stall he was in when he went to the bathroom. _That_ was the great might of Ivan's extensive network.

_Damn Russians are always so dangerous!_

Heracles was nowhere to be seen, probably napping somewhere in the back of the kitchen. When he reemerged, he simply figured that Arthur had thought the weather not that bad after all.

* * *

Peter found that during the past few days, he was basically either stuck on Kiku's lap, or chained to… some bedpost or chair or whatever. All he knew was that his legs were always either straddling something or held open by some other means.

_Kinky bastards!_

This was so sick by Peter's opinion, and he could barely stand it. At first, he had fought back vehemently. But eventually, his fire died out when he found that there was basically no use to his struggles. And sometimes, it even made the situation worse, such as that one time when he was forced to crawl around for a whole day as punishment for being 'disloyal to his master.'

_God what bullshit that was… All this 'master slave' shit is the spawn of only sick, sick bastards…_

There was even once when Peter was chained on his knees right between Kiku's legs, with Kiku patting his head and stroking his hair almost possessively. Peter was practically naked then, something highly uncomfortable pressing on his bottom, trying to violate it though never quite doing so.

Peter had found it quite an uncomfortable situation, especially when his humiliation increased greatly by the entrance of many of Kiku's customers, all of which ended up seeing Peter in some degrading situation or other, perhaps even more than once.

At every opportunity he had, Kiku showed Peter off. The Yakuza leader boasted about Peter, often showing _examples_ of Peter's 'good pet behavior.' It was at those times that Peter felt like puking the most.

And though he was blindfolded for a majority of the time, there were some instances when Peter's blindfold was removed.

At first, he welcomed its removal. The first time, he had actually _begged_ for it after going three days without sight. Of course, he knew that hat was what Kiku had been waiting for, a boy, knelt between his legs in chains, practically naked, begging for something. Still, Peter couldn't stand it anymore. He _had_ to have that part of his senses back.

But the moment it was removed, Peter wished dearly that it was back on him.

First of all, he found that he was wearing possibly the most degrading thing he could think of. There was a maid-like headband on him, shown to him by Kiku in a full-length mirror. The Japanese man took great pleasure in seeing Peter's disgusted expression, and actually encouraged it by asking for a three-way full view mirror to be brought up.

Peter also saw a disgusting maid like outfit on him, even if the word 'skimpy' was an understatement to describe it. There was practically no cloth, and where there was cloth, it was frilly and black and white. The largest piece of cloth was probably the apron that covered him in the front, no doubt trying to make Kiku's customers curious as to what laid underneath.

From the feeling, Peter knew that he had nothing under that small apron, and that knowledge made him cringe. All of this was terrible. Absolutely terrible.

And what made it worse was the knowledge that Arthur probably went through something like this, though perhaps not as degrading, in the hands of the Russian Bastard. And Arthur had probably went along with it too, knowing his naïve tendencies back at that inexperienced age.

And Peter had been kept out of all of that at the time because he had been too young at the time… Not that he wasn't 'too young' now.

He knew that what he was going through was illegal. It had to be illegal. Otherwise, there was something seriously wrong with the American legal system.

But Peter wasn't at all assured by the fact that Kiku probably killed enough people _in his sleep_ to fill a whole school auditorium, meaning that he probably had no scruples raping thirteen-year-olds either.

And that was the only good thing that Peter saw in his current situation. He hadn't been raped. Yet.

_How reassuring…_

* * *

Arthur found himself shoved into the backseat of a black Italian sports car with Ivan right behind him. Ivan gave a terse order to his chauffer and turned to Arthur.

Arthur found himself staring at the chauffer as Ivan gave the order. He was somewhat reminiscing in his 'good old days' as Alfred's chauffer along with getting more and more sick of the world. Why was everyone so… superficial? What was with all of these _rich people_? Arthur started to think that he had a Mogul Magnet on him or something…

And it didn't help his own feelings of great disgust that he was a homeless man while all of these people were practically millionaires.

Arthur began suspecting that his unicorn, which he hadn't been able to see in years, resented his ignorance, and therefore was planning something grand against him… That was the only explanation of how all of these unfortunate events managed to befall him, _especially_ when he was surrounded by so many well off people.

_Damn lucky bastards…_

Alfred was included in that thought.

Though Arthur loved the lawyer dearly, he couldn't help the resentment that he felt for Alfred's angry actions. It had hurt terribly when Arthur heard those unmerciful words. Alfred hadn't even seemed to care about the fact that Arthur had just lost both his house _and_ his brother. And to his ex-fiance/cold blooded mafia leader at that.

No. Alfred had just fired him. Mercilessly.

But the rest of Arthur's thoughts were cut off by their speedy arrival at the destination. One look outside and Arthur knew immediately that he was at Ivan's house—or mansion, more like it.

God, they must have been driving terribly fast for them to get that far in what seemed like minutes to the Englishman.

Or perhaps it hadn't been minutes at all, and Arthur had just been lost in his thoughts.

Ivan helped him out with a quiet and somewhat disturbing smile. Arthur's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he said nothing. It had been a miracle that the same thing hadn't happened this time in the car as it had _last time._

As they quietly approached the door, Arthur was finally struck by the fact that there was a strong possibility that Peter was somewhere within this grand house.

He would now keep a lookout to see if perhaps there would be a chance for him to go off and possibly rescue Peter from whatever horrors he was currently stuck in.

After all, Arthur knew full well—from experience—what Peter could have been subjected to. And even the slightest, smallest thought of such sent convulsions of great trepidation down his spine.

Arthur found himself put inside the same room that Peter had been in to receive his makeover, even if Arthur had no knowledge of that whatsoever.

He had been searching for a way to escape from Ivan the whole walk there, but Ivan's iron grip had prevented him from even walking easily, let alone make a getaway.

And even when the Englishman was forcefully pushed into the dark room filled with brightly smiling women, he was still trying to search for his escape route.

All chances of escape he had was lost, however, when he heard the large gears within the door being locked from the outside, much like a giant safe.

Arthur paled as he turned around to face the horde of women, whose harmless smiles seemed awfully villainous all of a sudden.

Or perhaps Arthur was just being cynical.

But Arthur was less and less confident of his cynicism as he backed against the wall, moving away from the slowly approaching throng of smiling women, armed with _hair gel_ of all things…

_Oh dear god…_

* * *

Ivan had actually left the 'safehouse' where he had left Arthur to go off and retrieve Peter. Neither of the Kirklands knew it, but the case was about two hours away, and there was still much preparation to do.

Ivan had found Arthur easily enough, for he had many of the beggars working for him. Finding Arthur's whereabouts was so easy that even the smallest of the Braginskis could do it. In their sleep.

After all, Arthur was a relatively inexperienced homeless man, and therefore, the trail he left behind him had been absolutely glaring.

And so, Ivan found Arthur to bring him back, just to make him look presentable for the case. What humiliation would it be for the defendant to arrive in the car of the plaintiff?

And though most others who found themselves in this situation would probably have let the defendant not show up, therefore winning the case just by sheer forfeit, Ivan was different; he wanted to see Arthur lose. He wanted to see the defeated expression on the Englishman's face.

It was just his own way of showing his sadistic love anyways, though he never truly loved the Englishman. Only played with him. But he had been a good toy while it all lasted. Too bad that the naïve little boy had grown up…

Then again, this was all the more fun to the Russian. Seeing that face contorted in pain or deep sadness was so… fun!

With that joyous thought to keep him company, Ivan went to the mansion of his nextdoor neighbor, the nice wizened Mr. Kiku Honda. At least, that was the appearance that he wanted to keep around the neighborhood for those not _in the know._

Entering from the back door, which was the customer door that only could be breached by those who had the key and knew the complicated lock system, Ivan walked up the stairs to the 'throne room.'

During the way, he was accosted by various nice Japanese people who were supposedly Kiku's relatives. They would ask questions about the weather or if Ivan saw some show last night. Simple questions, but they all had very specific answers. These seemingly harmless questions were actually tests to see if someone was really here to see Kiku in his... _natural element_, or if they were visiting the harmless and peaceful Kiku. Those who didn't know the right answers would never find the Throne Room no matter how hard they tried.

After all, Kiku's business was quite dangerous.

Passing all of the intricate traps and passwords with practiced skill, Ivan entered the dark room above that housed a couple of the most prized 'pets.' Undoubtedly, Kiku was most likely in there too.

Approaching the chair where Kiku sat, Ivan made sure not to trip over the various… _barriers_ in his way.

"Kiku… I need Peter for today. It's _the day_, after all."

Peter, who had been sitting in yet another degrading position beside the man's thigh, perked up at Ivan's menacing voice, not sure if he should welcome the news or dread it… Though he was quite sure that there wasn't much Ivan would say that would be welcome news to him.

Kiku nodded, a little reluctant, but it was part of the deal. He could have Peter as long as he wished, as long as he didn't sell or rent Peter off, let _physical_ harm befall Peter, and give Peter back when Ivan asked for him.

He reached down and detached the leash from the bar at the back of his cushioned chair and handed it to Ivan.

The Russian thanked Kiku and led Peter out to get ready for the case.

* * *

Alfred rued this day so much, but in the end, he knew that it had to happen. He had spent many nights searching in vain for the Englishman. New York was such a big place that it was practically impossible. It might have even been more impossible to find Arthur than to have Arthur win the case.

_God… Every single impossibility is stacked _against_ Arthur…_

That realization only made Alfred feel more like crap. How _nice_ it was to know that he had fired his love from possibly the only job he had, after Arthur had already lost his brother and house, not to mention fortune, however small it had been.

_Good job, Alfred. Good job…_

Alfred paced around the hall outside the court impatiently, though he wasn't sure what he was actually waiting for. Was he impatient for Ivan to get here, or for the case to be over, or just to see Arthur's face? God, was Arthur even going to show up?

So many questions that thoughts swam around his brain that Alfred's anxiety actually managed to give him a slight headache—but a growing one if one of the questions and worries wasn't going to be relieved soon.

Just as he made his millionth turn to pace around back to the other side, he saw Ivan at the door, trailed by both Peter _and_ Arthur.

Ivan had given the Kirkland brothers a little time to see each other, before they would never see each other again. How sweet it would be to be the force that separated the two close siblings… It was in moments like today that Ivan really did love his own cunning mind and abilities.

Alfred looked upon the group with mixed emotions, remembering the boy from the first time they had met way back when… God that seemed so long ago…

All three of the newcomers were extremely well dressed and neat looking, which was something that Alfred hadn't expected. At least, Arthur-wise, he hadn't.

But here Arthur was, in front of him, approaching him, dressed in a nice suit, hair tamed and slightly trimmed, eyebrows even waxed a little. Ivan definitely had to have had a hand in all of that.

Alfred bounded across the area left between the group and himself, smiling brightly, even though he definitely wasn't feeling that way.

"Good day, Mr. Braginski." Alfred and Ivan shook hands as Peter and Arthur watched on.

Alfred then turned to nod at Peter, who was staring at him, wide-eyed. No doubt Peter recognized him as the man who was sleeping at the front of their house months ago, then had hired Arthur.

Peter had yet to find out about the whole 'laying off' thing, nor had he found out about Arthur's current living situation. All he knew was that Ivan was trying to gain custody of him because of the house burning down, claiming Arthur to be irresponsible.'

And because of his grand amount of ignorance, Peter was highly confused as to why his brother's boss was currently there, greeting Ivan in such a friendly way.

Peter's eyes narrowed with suspicion, stepping backwards slightly from Alfred's extended hand.

Alfred retracted the hand, figuring that the boy probably knew something about his brother's current situation, and that Alfred had something to do with it.

Alfred then willed himself to look up at the person he wanted to see most and least. Gathering up his courage, Alfred's gaze shifted to the Englishman.

To his disappointment and relief, Arthur was concentrating on avoiding his gaze. Currently, the Brit was looking at his mangled watch, checking the time, almost seeming impatient. Alfred couldn't understand why Arthur was impatient for the life of him.

Knowing better than to greet his former chauffer and current love, Alfred wrenched his eyes back to Ivan, his heart beating twice as fast as it had been beating just seconds ago. His heart was now in great pain, thinking about the sorrow that he would be bringing to Arthur…

But another plan had already started to build in his mind, and perhaps their relationship could be fixed… Well, actually, Alfred doubted that he could ever do anything to get Arthur to talk to him again after today, but at least the plan that was developing in his head gave him the _hope_ of it.

Alfred took one last glance at his watch and knew that it was time to get down to business. He approached the door, followed closely by Ivan, who was yanking Peter along firmly but gently by his wrist.

Arthur made to follow, but Ivan motioned for him to wait, pointing at the little wrist area where people usually wore watches to indicate that Arthur should watch the time.

Bemused, Arthur nevertheless remained where he was, waiting about ten minutes before he entered himself. No doubt it was probably an image thing. The plaintiff and defendant weren't ever supposed to show up together. That was just… never done. Ever.

Tentatively, Arthur then made his own way in, taking his seat at the left hand table. He tried to look as confident as possible, but it was a little hard, considering his current situation.

As Arthur waited, he glanced around him, trying to observe the room to keep his mind off of matters. There was no one there in the seats behind them, even if this, like most other cases, was open to the public. It was just at a time that no one was really interested in coming to see what was happening at court. And there wasn't enough publicity in this specific case to gather any audience.

Arthur's eyes accidentally wandered to the opposing side, where he found Ivan and Peter both smiling at him. Peter was trying to give him a reassuring 'it's going to be okay' look that little brothers always seemed to have, while Ivan's smile was just… well, Ivan.

Alfred was rifling through the papers in his suitcase, trying to keep his eyes from wandering to his newfound love. Instead, he had to be professional. This was still his job, and he had to do it… Like he didn't know the defendant at all.

However, after a little, Alfred's eyes glanced up and met the piercing and defeated green ones that were currently looking at him.

Arthur immediately shifted his gaze back to his hands, clasped together on the table, a slight pink tingeing his cheeks.

_How… cute,_ Alfred thought, not able to help himself.

Shaking his head of that turn on, Alfred refocused himself on the papers from his briefcase. _Focus, Al, focus! This is a professional case._

For the rest of the waiting period, Arthur thought about the case that was so swiftly approaching. He was here to represent himself. There was no lawyer to save him.

Arthur sighed. He'd never thought that thinking about his own past would ever help him in life again… But after all, his father had been a successful lawyer… perhaps Alfred even heard of him… but that was very unlikely.

Though his father had never spoken much about work, at least Arthur had seen his father when he was in his 'business voice.' Arthur could mimic that quite well, and at least sound dignified as he tumbled down to an utter loss of the case.

It was then that the bailiff entered and called the usual 'all rise.'

The rest of the case passed in a blur to Arthur. He tried to defend himself as much as he could, giving his own direct examination, which was a little awkward. He just sort of ended up saying what he would have said in defense, had he had a lawyer.

Arthur's opening statement had been a dignified thing. Arthur didn't allow himself to stutter. He let his anger come through a little to help him keep down his deep fear of the Russian.

Instead, he gave Ivan a piercing glare as he stood up to present his case to the court, trying to defend against Alfred's flawless opening statement.

During the whole case, Alfred carried himself so differently than Arthur had ever seen him. It was obvious that Alfred was in his element in the courtroom, shining with power and knowledge every time he said something.

Though Alfred was the opposing attorney—or opposing barrister, as the Brits called them—Arthur couldn't help but admire the man. Though Arthur was supposed to be pissed as hell and forever resentment that the man was so… cold deep down, Arthur couldn't help the love that he felt, which grew stronger and stronger each day, despite whatever Alfred did, or that Arthur thought of those actions.

When it came time for the cross examinations, Arthur was practically grilled. Alfred seemed like a different person altogether, completely focused on the job at hand. There was no recognition in Alfred's eyes as he looked on Arthur's cringing form on the stand; there was no mercy in those steely blue eyes against the fidgety yet defiant green ones. Most of all, there was no love whatsoever. Arthur's heart was completely crushed at that moment, and he answered all the questions without emotion whatsoever.

Arthur started becoming more and more pissed as the case went on. Not only was Alfred being more and more of a bastard as time went on, but Ivan was being more and more of a creep. Arthur could see those stares sent at both him and his little brother. They made him shudder every single time, though it was probably so small that the judge didn't notice.

When it was Arthur's time to cross examine Ivan, he faltered a bit. Arthur had tried to build up courage and strength for the moment, knowing that Ivan would by trying as many psychological tricks as possible.

But when Arthur went against Ivan, he knew that basically all was lost. There was no way that he could ask anything intelligent that would help him while he was being _smiled_ at in such a way.

Arthur shuddered, knowing full well just what thoughts were passing through Ivan's head at that moment…

The rest of the case passed without much of a hitch. It was obvious that Arthur was going to lose from the beginning, but he had tried his best.

Throughout the whole time, Peter smiled at Arthur, trying to give his older brother courage and the will to fight. But though it was help to Arthur, there wasn't much that anyone could do to save the battle now. The only thing that would work was if Alfred suddenly relented and completely went _against_ his client. But when Arthur saw those piercing and focused blue eyes, he knew that all hopes of that were dashed.

Arthur's ending statement came and passed without much fanfare. He said nothing different, knowing that the only thing he could do was hope to appeal to the judge's emotions. But the judge had seemed so utterly bored throughout the whole case that Arthur knew that there was slim chance of that happening either.

When Arthur finished with the closing line of his closing statement, he sat himself back down silently, not looking at the opposing table. He could feel both a smiling and smug gaze on him, along with a brother concern one. But the one gaze that he found himself craving the most wasn't there. Alfred was instead keeping his professional self and acting like a lawyer should—like a smug and confident lawyer should; he was already packing up, getting ready to go, sure of his win.

But though Alfred seemed smug at his win, as he should have been, had it been any other circumstance, within, Alfred was anything but smug. He was feeling deep guilt over causing those hurt and scared expressions he saw on Arthur's face when he was cross examining the Brit. He was also feeling like an ass for just being so… removed from the whole case. Sure, he was a professional, but perhaps he should have acted a little more humane throughout the whole thing.

Alfred sighed inwardly. Their relationship was _beyond_ irreparable. He had basically committed relationshipicide on the highest level. The only worst thing he could have done was rape Peter, which, in his defense, was something that he would _never_ do.

The judge finished his quick overlook of the case and, with an absolutely dead countenance, announced dryly that Peter went to Ivan.

Though Arthur had expected that all along, hearing it still brought his world crumbling down. He felt like puking.

When the bailiff bid for them to stand as the judge left, Arthur felt nothing. He heard nothing. He didn't feel Ivan's smug and slightly self-congratulatory smile; he didn't feel Peter's extremely concerned look; and last of all, he didn't feel Alfred's remorseful and highly guilty gaze. No. All he knew was the great devastation that overcame him, mixed in with the extreme resentment he suddenly felt for Alfred, along with the deep rooted hatred that built up within him for Ivan.

Arthur sat back down after the court was dismissed, not sure what to do. His gaze was void of emotions as he just stared down at the ground in front of the table.

Peter tried to run over to him and give him a hug, but he was dragged away by Ivan, who managed to keep him quiet by threatening him quietly with some mention of Kiku and 'toys.'

Alfred, on the other hand, lagged behind a little, pretending to clean up. He tried not to glance over at the Englishman as he tidied up his suitcase again and again, probably organizing it about six times already.

How was he supposed to act? God knows he wanted to apologize very badly, knowing that it probably wouldn't even get recognition, let alone forgiveness. He felt like letting it all out, spilling all his heart right there on the table in hopes that he could at least get a reaction from the Brit.

But despite his strong want to do such, he knew that it would only cost him more. It would seem like a self centered, asshole thing to do, taking advantage of Arthur like that, not to mention approaching Arthur with something so selfish as love right after having murdered Arthur's life right before his eyes.

_Of course, it's not like you've been an angel before this, either… Being an ass now would only make you seem more like… your real self, right?_

Those were cynical thoughts, but Alfred couldn't help but see the reality in his words. He felt that he was the biggest ass in all of history at the moment. Who gave a damn about Attila the Hun or Maximilien Robespierre. They were angels compared to how Alfred currently viewed himself.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred finally closed his briefcase and approached Arthur, who was still staring blankly at the ground with the most depressed and hopeless expression Alfred had ever seen… on _anyone_.

"Hey… Arthur…"

Those words snapped Arthur out of his abstracted gaze and his head snapped up to meet Alfred's concerned eyes.

_Concern my ass,_ Arthur thought darkly. The stupid American actually had the audacity to _talk_ to him after having already ruined his life?

"Fuck you," Arthur shot back coldly, tears in his eyes. He stood up and slapped Alfred's outreached hand away, then clenching his hand in a shaking fist.

With a huff, Arthur whirled around and started swiftly walking off, unsure of his destination, but knowing that he wanted to be anywhere but near Alfred—near the person at which he was currently most angry. Near the person who had fired him, then went against him, all in cold blood. Near the person that he currently loved. Arthur was sure that it was true love this time.

And he was absolutely disgusted with that fact.

Alfred ran after Arthur, desperate for just a little more than a swear. He needed to talk to the Englishman, no matter how much Arthur didn't want it.

He managed to catch Arthur right outside the door of the whole courthouse, grasping the thin wrist in a relatively firm grip.

"Wait, Arthur! I need to explain!"

Arthur tried desperately to wrench himself free, but to no avail. After a while of trying, Arthur not only felt shamed by his weak lack of strength, but greatly frustrated and offended that Alfred would even try to approach him.

Gathering himself, Arthur glared long and hard into Alfred's eyes, the moisture in his own eyes visible. But his pride was far too damaged for him to care about that anymore.

"Explanations? _Explanations?_ I think I've had enough of your explanations, you… you… filthy bastard!"

Alfred was too shocked by the intensity of Arthur's look to even reply. It took him a while to regain his thoughts, and by then, Arthur had already looked away.

"Arty—Arthur."

Alfred waited for a response, but Arthur said nothing. Alfred could feel that the resentment ran deep.

"I… I just want you to know that I'm sorry… for… for…"

But before Alfred could continue to explain himself, Arthur butted in, on a newfound wave of anger. This time, it was whispered lethal though.

"For what? Firing me knowing that I had no house left? But no. That's understandable. I had gone against my orders. I had made you late. I had felt _guilty _about that. You had the _right_ to fire me then."

Alfred felt his heart being torn apart and put together again over and over as Arthur continued. Arthur had actually been guilty over that? Sheesh… That only made Alfred feel worse about the whole thing.

"Then, I find out that you're the lawyer for _Ivan_," Arthur continued, spiting out the name. "Not only do you fire me—after my house was burned down and my brother given to my _ex_—but those are _my _problems, so _of course _you shouldn't give a damn."

Alfred winced. That hurt a lot. Actually he had been quite sleep deprived over the matter already, but hearing it from Arthur himself was just… utterly heart breaking.

"But you're also his _lawyer?_" Arthur continued, saying each word with such deep distaste that Alfred found himself wincing constantly. "But yeah. Sure. It's your _job_, isn't it? And I'm just your fucking chauffeur. A taxi driver you met a couple months ago. What should you care?"

Rolling his eyes in anger and frustration, Arthur let out a sardonic laugh. "It's all about _money_, isn't it? Who gives a fucking _damn_ about people, or emotions, or _love_. No. It's money. It's stupid materialism!"

Alfred was immediately brought to the thought of his own boss, sad that Arthur's cynicism held actually quite a substantial amount of truth in it. After all, his boss had been driven by all the money, not even caring that there was a huge bunch of illegality in Ivan's dealings.

"You and everyone else. Superficial bastards who play with those below you, manipulating them as _puppets_ of your grand scheme. What am I to you? A _pay raise?_ Bet you this case gets you promoted, especially because of the big money Ivan no doubt has given you!"

Arthur managed to wrench himself free in his last burst of anger, still not looking up at Alfred. Alfred let the hand go, somehow knowing that Arthur wouldn't go anywhere just yet.

A seemingly long moment of silence passed between them as they just stood there, Arthur calming himself down while Alfred just absorbed Arthur's tirade.

Arthur's words had cut through him like hot steel. His heart felt completely ripped apart, and he wasn't sure that it would be put together again after this. After all, his love had practically just told him off and made him out to be the biggest imbecilic asshole this universe had ever seen.

_You know, Al… He's actually quite… accurate…_

Alfred knew that he had deserved all those words, and that was why he felt no anger at them. Only deep, deep regret—to a point that he could barely even describe it.

Alfred looked up one last time, observing Arthur's face long and hard.

"I… I'm sorry," he apologized one last time, averting his eyes. He couldn't take Arthur's angry and devastated expression anymore. Yet, there was something deep in Arthur's expression that he just couldn't figure out. Something like… a regret or deep… self-disgust? That made no sense whatsoever to the lawyer… But hey, that was why he was a lawyer and not a detective or psychologist.

With that, Alfred turned around and walked away, reaching his hand hesitantly up to give Arthur a parting touch. But in the end, his hand made no contact, and Alfred walked away, highly dejected.

A plan was already taking good form in his mind as to what to do from here on. He knew that he and Arthur would meet again, for it was all part of his plan… well, at least he hoped that they would meet again… He would make _sure_ of it... Or die trying.

_Oh fuck_, thought Alfred. _There's like a ninety-nine percent chance of dying..._

Still, that thought didn't deter Alfred from his plan. If he was going to die, he was almost ready to, if it meant alleviating Arthur's pain...

That was the depth that his love ran. And it even surprised himself.

* * *

Author's Comments:

So! I apologize for the lateness in all of this. I was just trying to finish the prize before the previous one so that I actually wasn't FAR behind. So now, I'm just plain far. No caps. :D

And I've been really busy lately. Actually, tonight's all-nighter night, I think. I'm not sure yet. It all depends on how much work I can get done... But I have a competition on Saturday, and my trifold right now is completely blank (but it's taller than I am).

And because there is that one store I need to go to that's currently closed at this hour (midnight), I can't continue working until tomorrow. *sigh*

And so, I am reduced to finally finishing this chapter and the prize up so I can post it!

As for the story...

Well, first of all, I apologize for the swearing. I find that it's a little... necessary though. Well, all right, not _necessary_, but... umm... accurate? I don't know how to say it, but I think that it fits. Yes! That's it! It's fitting. I think, at least. If you have an issue though, then you may bring it up with me (though then it would leave me to wonder why in all of the Queen's name would you be reading an "M" rated fic...)

Secondly, There is some SM stuff with Peter there. Yes, it's a personal liking of mine. Not ashamed to admit it either. I can't write it to save my life, and therefore, I didn't go into detail. And plus, I found that there was no need to go into detail. It wasn't a main part of the story. I just wanted to put it in there because (I like it) I wanted Peter to suffer... and I like Black!Kiku. Plus, when you think about it, I had to have a reason why Arthur would be so pissed about the whole thing, and so fearful of having Peter in those hands.

Last of all, this is officially THE LONGEST CHAPTER of the whole fic so far! I think that there are only... two chapters or so left to the fic. Three maybe. It's close to the end! So bear with me! PLEASE! It's so close to the ending (for those of you whose sisters/friends/brothers/cousins/dogs forced you into reading this)!

I LOVE YOU GUYS! There are far too many people to give shoutouts to, so I will leave off this chapter with the "Thank you for all of your support! My version of a shoutout is replying to your comments!"

You all make me cry. Seriously. =D

- Galythia

P.S. Congrats to APurpleAvacado for getting the previous question right! It was, indeed, Lithuania in America's house!

Oh... shoot... I hadn't thought about this part... *glances up at clock, almost fainting from exhaustion*... umm...

Tell me! "Kesese" is associated with which Hetalia character? _And_ tell me something that that character seems to say in almost every one of his/her journals that he/she had kept since his/her founding as a nation.

*shot* Best question I can think of off the top of my head...


	20. Chapter 19

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 19

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Ivan: **Aww… How cute! Arthur, your little brother's finally learning the _ropes_!

**Arthur:** You evil bastard! You and… and… Kiku! Honestly! I would never have thought!

**Francis:** Does Ivan really not seem evil to you? Should you go see a doctor?

**Arthur:** I meant Kiku…

**Kiku:** Arthur-san. I humbly apologize for such actions! But you see… It's not my fault…

**Romano:** Yeah, yeah. That's what they _all_ say. Then they end up dead. Or worse, they end up cheery and calling you '_cute_.'

**Antonio: **Aww~ You're so cute! Vieni qui e lascia che papà Spagna ti abbracci~ (Come here and let papa Spain hug you)

**Romano: **S-stay away, you… you… creep… *blush*

**Peter: **Speaking of creeps… Who the hell is he?! *points at well dressed stranger*

**Arthur: **Peter, even I fail at seeing who you're talking about…

**Peter: **Him! You know, the guy that just _rented me_ for a _million bucks_! Lord I'm not ready to lose my virginity yet! I'm still pure! Save me! I work hard! I go to school and study! What more do you want?! *cries*

**Francis: **So sad that he got to there before me… Perhaps I should have rented you for two million… Of course, I could go and find your brother and get him for free…

**Alfred:** *wielding toilet u-bend pipe* What was that? *twitch twitch*

**Francis: **Oh dear… If love can make people turn into Russians then I actually might not want to be involved…

**Arthur:** How many times must I tell you?! It's _not_ love! It's just Galythia's stupid shipping…

**Ivan:** Oh Arthur~ I've got my whip with me this time~

**Arthur:** *runs to Alfred by instinct and jumps into a surprised American's arms*

**Francis: ***smug* What did I tell you?

**Im Yong Soo: **He still doesn't have boobs, so it doesn't matter. Not like aniki over here.

*EVERYONE PAUSES AND STARES AT IM YONG SOO*

**Im Yong Soo: **What…? Did I say something wrong...?

* * *

After that day, Arthur just went back to his usual routine of homelessness, not sure if he even had a will to live anymore… Everything he did was just by habit, and he was on autopilot as his mind wandered through the past events, not even yet able to comprehend the fact that he had, in fact, lost Peter.

Officially.

Well wasn't _that_ a nice thought. Not to mention the fact that the person who had aided him in losing Peter was his love.

_That_ was quite nice too.

The only thing that was keeping Arthur alive and giving Arthur to ambition to duke it out for food and the like was the notion that perhaps, one day, by some miracle, Peter would come back to him.

Perhaps one day, he'd stumble upon a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Perhaps.

But for now, what could he do but hang out with the pigeons, sleep with the pigeons, and eat as much as the pigeons? Those damn winged rats—or so Arthur liked to call them—were the only friends he had left in the world that might actually be able to do something.

Peter was out of the question, no doubt being put through some weird and despicable tasks at the moment in some far reaches of a corner… in chains.

And Alfred… Arthur didn't even want to think about Alfred. Alfred didn't _deserve_ his thoughts.

_Despicable, miserable, stupid, idiotic, chaotic imbecilic, disdainful bastard!_

But yet, Arthur knew that his feelings wouldn't change. He absolutely despised that fact, almost as much as he despised Alfred at the moment. Or perhaps more than he despised himself for still possessing those feelings even _after_ all the troubles and pain that the lawyer had brought him.

Though he couldn't understand it, all he knew was that he hated it. Despised it. Loathed it. Detested it. Abhorred it. Whatever adjectives of hatred the Brit could think of applied in the current situation.

Staring at the pigeons gathering at his feet, searching for food that they would then fight over, Arthur smiled wryly.

_Father… Bet you intended for this to happen, didn't you? Well happy birthday,_ Arthur thought sarcastically. _Your every wish. Mother dead. Peter legally put into… whatever that is. Child prostitution?_

Arthur shuddered for a second, thinking back to the comment that Ivan had made what seemed like years ago when Arthur had first driven him home under the orders of Alfred. To think that Peter was possibly put through what Arthur himself had been put through almost two years back was a horrible thought.

And it was also a little ironic to think that it was Alfred's fault for starting all of this off. Had Arthur taken another passenger that day, then he probably would have never met Alfred, he wouldn't have left in a hurry, burned down his house, got Alfred almost fired from his job, give Ivan the opportunity to take Peter—probably for exacting revenge for something Arthur couldn't even remember—and last of all, Arthur wouldn't have fallen in love. And it was _love_ this time, not some stupid infatuation that he had possessed in his naïve years. No. This was complete, one hundred and twenty percent, straight out love.

At this point, though Arthur now was glad that he finally experienced the _great feeling_ that everyone was always writing, talking, and making movies about. But other than that, there was nothing to be glad about. He was in love with someone that he hated from the bottom of his heart. This love _thing_ had brought him the greatest pains he had ever experienced, even greater than the amount that he had experienced when his father had left his mother heartbroken, or when their mother had died. Then, at least Arthur still had _someone_ to lean on occasionally and with whom he could laugh about stupid things.

But now, he was completely alone. The pigeons were even flying away from him, finding nothing of interest at his feet. No one wanted to be around him. Other beggars found his naïve nature to be too happy for their existence. Heracles had long come to treat him like any other beggar, and any special relationship they had had melted away.

It was truly a lonely existence, and added with the whole thing being _official_, well, Arthur just felt utterly hopeless.

How could he go on? Thank god for his long belief in developing and honing the power of habits, otherwise he probably would have killed himself by now from utter starvation.

But the difference from his current gaunt self and actual death wasn't actually much. He looked absolutely terrible and disheveled, living without a care in the world.

The only thing that kept him going was Peter. The hope of ever seeing Peter again—and possibly the hope that he could deliver a fracturing punch to Alfred's crotch—kept him going and living like he did. Without those two notions, he would have perished after a couple of days after the case…

* * *

Alfred had planned this for a month. A month. A whole month ever since the court case. A whole month since Peter had been officially handed over to Ivan. A whole month since… Alfred had completely trashed their relationship…

And a whole month since the plan had been forming in Alfred's head.

And now, after a month of planning, Alfred was sure that this _was_ the plan. Yep. After days of spending all nighters making sure that everything fell into place, and that everything worked, Alfred was ready. He had done his share to make sure that he knew all the inner workings and building plans of both Ivan's and Yao's house.

Everything was in place. The time was set. The date was set. Two days. Two days until his fateful attempt to carry out the biggest plan in his life. Two days until it would all rely on him. _Everything_ would rely on him.

But the pressure wasn't what was making Alfred nervous. It was the outcome. How would Arthur react? What would Arthur say? And though the chances were slim, would Arthur forgive him?

As Alfred dashed back and forth across his grand apartment, he laughed a little at the irony of the situation that he was about to go into in just a couple of days. Here he was, evading his boss, trying to take on as little cases as possible without appearing suspicious, running here and there to set things in place, spying on various houses, infiltrating various world databases through the help of a loud roguish friend of his from Vietnam, and readying himself for something that was very likely to kill him. And yet, all he could think about was Arthur and Arthur's reaction.

It no longer surprised Alfred as to the extent he would go to for Arthur. As days went on, he grew to love his ex-chauffer more and more, though of course he couldn't say that. And with the way things looked now, he never would say it.

But that was okay. It was his fault in the first place that their relationship was this screwed up, meaning that he had to accept it. There was no use crying over spilled milk, especially when he had known that the cup was going to fall far before it actually happened, and actually aided in doing it anyways. It didn't matter that there were some other forces persuading him to knock down the cup. In the end, it had been him that willingly did it. It had been him that had been stupid.

And now he had to pay.

That was why Alfred found himself so surprisingly calm about the matter. Once he had accepted that it was his fault, all he could focus on was trying to make it up to Arthur. Forgiveness was another matter that Alfred tried as much as possible not to think about.

And now, Alfred was on his computer, in the middle of his living room, printing out directions to various places that he would need to visit today. It was only noon and he felt already that he had gone through a full day's work.

After all, outsmarting a Russian communist drug dealer/ring leader was a little difficult, not to mention the fact that Alfred had recently learned during his past month of snooping around that Peter actually wasn't at Ivan's house at all. He was at the neighbor's house.

At first, Alfred thought nothing of it. He was actually glad that Ivan was keeping such a loose hold on the boy. It would make Alfred's job easier.

At least, that was what he thought until he did some background check on the wizened neighbor and found out that he was the leader of the Yakuza, who made his base in America because he liked the change of pace. He tended to move every three years or so, always appearing as a soft-spoken nice Japanese man who minded his own business.

Boy _that_ had taken a while to find out; Alfred had to dig quite deep for that information. The man hid his steps well. Thank god for the fact that Alfred's friend was also in the 'in' circle, meaning that she could find out whatever she wanted to. That was the good thing about having a friend that had no self-restrictions. Nguyen Ngoc Anh—last name, middle name, then first, as the Vietnamese always said it—was someone that Alfred never thought he would actually ask to do the things that she did anyways. He had always found that side of her a little unsettling.

And yet, now he found himself calling and emailing her every day, requesting one piece of information after another. And she always managed to get them to him in the fastest time possible. She probably could find out information faster than most well versed spies for the KGB or MI5, and boy was Alfred glad for it. He had no time to lose.

Already deeply immersed in illegal methods of attaining information and preparation that probably broke several capital laws already, Alfred felt no scruples about the rest of his plan, which involved quite a bit more illegality. He just hoped that he could keep it as low as possible, since the more illegal dealings, the more physical dangers he would be putting himself in.

But that really didn't matter did it?

No. All that mattered was… Arthur…

* * *

Ivan sat in front of the stereotypical "evil omnipotent leader" set of screens that he used to monitor everything that went on pertaining to him. That involved all searches about him and everyone that tried to find out about him.

On this specific day, secluded in that dark room with nothing but his evil chuckles and the multiple screens to keep him company, Ivan typed away, monitoring certain people that he had started taking special interest in a month or so ago… just right after the court case.

Of course, the people that he was monitoring were none other than Alfred and Anh. Well, Ivan had known about Anh for a while now, since she was involved in the spy business, which was something that Ivan was also involved in himself, though he worked for himself, whereas Anh worked for anyone that paid well.

But the addition of Alfred was a new development that had taken the Russian by surprise. But of course, it was pleasant surprise. Soon, Ivan had settled into more of an amused interest. It was obvious that Alfred thought that neither Ivan, Yao, Im Yong Soo, nor Kiku knew about all of his and his friend's snooping, and honestly, none of them did know except for Ivan.

Wang Yao was more interested in smuggling arms and drugs, and found that people looked into him a lot, so he was used to it and paid Anh's actions no mind. Of course, before those people who looked into him could do anything to jeopardize his dangerous life, they conveniently disappeared.

Im Yong Soo was also as dangerous as the others, but he found that he delighted in keeping as low a profile as possible. Though he had the capacity to be just as lethal and dark, he tended to like being a simple person who followed Wang Yao around better than anything else. So he didn't care that people looked into him, since they were unlikely to find anything about him himself.

And Kiku… well, Kiku had a secret pride in his ability to keep on the down low as a stereotypical quiet Japanese man, and so he never felt the need to be suspicious about anything. He had figured that there was no way anyone would ever be able to dig anything up about him without really bringing himself to his attention. And so, relying on that confident notion, he lived his life. Though, of course, Ivan had told him many times that it was, in fact, possible to dig up stuff about almost everyone, so the Japanese man shouldn't be too confident, but Kiku just dismissed the remark whenever it was said.

And plus, none of them held the deep… love for monitoring their own searches as Ivan did. Perhaps it was a weird and twisted case of egotism, but Ivan really did have a slight fetish for keeping track of the whos, wheres, whens, whys, and hows of those that snooped about, looking for information about him. When those levels were especially high, that was when he really felt _loved_.

Though right at the moment, the number of people trying to scoop up facts about him wasn't particularly stunning, the actual types of people made Ivan giddy nevertheless.

To think that Anh was finally turning her head toward this particular Russian made the Russian in question proud. After all, Anh was notorious within the darker areas of the world for being a top class information seeker. Not quite a spy, but a very good… "no questions asked" deals sort of person. And it made Ivan both proud and happy that he had finally caught her attention, even if it was most likely because of Alfred's request.

And because Ivan enjoyed watching this unfold so much, he wasn't going to interfere. Why stop the fun? Plus, he was very curious about what Alfred's plan was. Though he could have probably put together most of the pieces himself if he looked into it, Ivan enjoyed a little surprise once in a while.

No doubt the plan would involve Peter somehow. Perhaps the American would try and take Peter back to Arthur? Boy would _that_ be interesting.

Not at all surprising to the Russian himself, Ivan would let the boy go if Alfred succeeded in getting the boy. He wouldn't try to get Peter back if Peter was gone and back to Arthur, even if he easily could if he wanted.

After all, he had done this for the fun of it. Ivan enjoyed a little spice in his life once in a while. Arthur's tears were just a plus. When Ivan had found out that Arthur was around New York City, how could he resist? He used to only see those tears when they were doing their _thing_ in bed… But now that those days had long passed, Ivan wanted to see those gorgeous tears again. They brightened up his day so much!

With the satisfaction that Arthur was once again devastated because of him, Ivan would let Peter go if Alfred came to get him. Of course, that didn't mean that Ivan was going to pass on a chance to cause Arthur some more pain…

_Perhaps… one thing for another… da?_

And so, not only was a plan already in Alfred's mind, Ivan was getting a plan of his own. And with his knowledge that there was only two days until Alfred decided to spring his plan, Ivan swirled around in his large black leather chair and stood up, walking swiftly to the door.

There was little time and there was much to do…

* * *

The next day passed with a blur for Alfred. He was rushing around here and there, trying to make sure that everything fell into its correct place. He couldn't afford a mistake this deep into the game. That could mean death. And as much as Alfred loved Arthur, he wasn't ready to die quite just yet if he could help it. Of course, if it came down to it, if it was the last thing that Alfred could possibly do to help, then… well, Alfred scared even himself in realizing that he might actually be willing to die.

Then again, he didn't really want to test that theory.

Alfred was currently on his last errand, making a visit to the books and records of the local court clerk to see if those papers from their specific court case were still around. Luckily, they were, though just about to be sent off to the records of the state. Alfred thanked god that he had caught them on time, since it would have really complicated things if he had to travel to the main records building of New York to attain the documents. That would possibly push his plan back further, and Alfred already figured he had postponed it long enough. Who knows what could have happened to Arthur by now?

It felt a little odd for the lawyer to be going back and asking for the papers, since he rarely ever followed up on cases enough to check over the papers to make sure that all the terms had been put down exactly as he had made the case. Usually, he felt enough satisfaction with just winning.

But today was different.

Today, he was going back to get those papers and do something that probably would put him in jail for at least five years. And yet, it wasn't that those things he had done up until this moment were legal either.

_Sheesh… All of this is making me completely devoid of ethics…_

Alfred grimaced. That was a necessity, since everyone else that he was going against was sure to play dirty also. Fight fire with fire.

Of course, that thought didn't make Alfred feel much better about the fact that he was so different from what he used to be—a moral, ethical, proud lawyer who brought people to justice.

_How ironic_, Alfred thought sardonically as he was showed to the written reports. Lucky for Alfred, the clerk on duty at the time was one who knew Alfred well. He was a nice man soft violet eyes and a very interesting shade of blonde hair. Those eyes were always so bright and trusting that Alfred almost felt sorry for the clerk.

_So… innocent…_

Or perhaps the clerk was, like Alfred also, hiding something dark behind a bright smile… After all, Alfred had caught a very sad look in his eyes on occasion when he had exited the records room. But they were always so brief that Alfred wasn't sure if he had imagined them or not.

As Tino led him deeper into the records room, going on and on about his dog and how cute he was, Alfred smiled a little. The topic was so light, so simple that Alfred couldn't help but be brightened by it too. It took his mind off of his current task and tomorrow.

But that didn't last quite as long as he had wanted, since they had arrived at the records section where the object of Alfred's search was residing.

Usually, Tino would stay with him and keep an eye on him as part of his duty as clerk. With records such as these, one could never be too careful.

Alfred was about to pull out that part of his plan when he heard a bell chime from somewhere. It was the button at the front desk where Tino usually sat. There was someone else that needed to be admitted entrance and shown to the records.

Tino was torn, not sure what he should do. People rarely came at this time of day, so he wasn't quite used to having to tend to two people at a time.

But when the bell chimed again a second time, in a very peculiar pattern, Tino's eyes brightened up. Turning to Alfred, he smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, but I gotta go take care of this. I trust that you can handle things yourself. I'll be back to sign it back in."

With that, Tino whirled around with possibly the happiest and most excited look Alfred had ever seen him with and dashed off, yelling something like, "Berwald!"

Alfred's eyes narrowed for a second.

_Berwald… lawyer… ?_

Huh. That reminded Alfred of something he couldn't remember. Perhaps a court case a long time ago or something… But that wasn't important. Alfred was just thankful that Berwald had shown up,

Snapping back to reality, Alfred looked down at the box in his hands and quickly placed it on a nearby table, pulling off the top.

He quickly rifled through the papers, trying to find the court order that he had come for. For all Alfred knew, he had very little time to accomplish what he had to do.

Facing in a direction and leaning in a way that he knew would block all possible cameras, Alfred pulled out the court order that had pronounced Peter to be in Ivan's custody. Then, stealthily pulling out some fake papers that he had made from this one, Alfred quickly swapped them.

Hiding the real papers, Alfred pretended to look over them, making sure the cameras caught him doing _something_ productive at least.

Just when he was getting bored of pretending to read the papers, Tino finally came back, a little breathless, but smiling just as brightly nevertheless.

Alfred noticed that one side of his collar was upturned slightly, probably from someone's caress…

But those thoughts reminded Alfred too much of Arthur, and he avoided them before he could end up feeling worse.

Tino smiled as Alfred put the paper back into the box, placing the top back on.

"I trust that you found what you needed?" Tino asked, using a marker in his pocket to sign the box back in.

Alfred smiled and nodded, walking out with Tino. Thanking the talkative and bright clerk, Alfred made his way out nonchalantly, getting into his car as if nothing had happened.

At first, doing illegal things had made him very paranoid of being watched, or suspicious that people actually knew what he was doing. But now, now that he had done so many illegal things in one month, let alone in his whole life, Alfred felt calmer with carrying out such plans.

_Not sure if that's a good thing…_

Sighing, Alfred drove off, very glad that that little speed bump was over with. Now that Peter was 'officially' under Arthur's custody, there was only that one last issue of actually making that true. It definitely wasn't possible to sue Ivan under charges of kidnapping Peter from Arthur since the judge and bailiff that had presided over the case would surely remember the outcome, then there would be an investigation, and then not only would Alfred end in jail, but so would Arthur.

And frankly, though there were many other consequences and reasons that Alfred was against making it a court case, all he could really be pushed by was the fact that Arthur would only hate him more.

Alfred winced. The level of hatred that Alfred had received from Arthur was already enough to last him six lifetimes. Alfred wasn't sure if he could handle more anyways.

Now that Al had made it 'official,' it all narrowed down to tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day that would change everything… and hopefully for the better.

Knowing that he should get some sleep, Alfred quickly drove back home and plopped into bed, only able to take off his shoes and tie. Everything else just remained on him as he drifted off to a restless sleep.

_Arthur… Forgive… me…_

_

* * *

_

Peter had been thrown into the depths of despair ever since the court case. What could he do but continually mourn the fact that Arthur was… gone…? The boy tried to find some outlet for his sadness, but there was nowhere to turn. Ivan had passed him off to Kiku the moment they got back. And almost as if nothing had changed, Peter found himself back in chains at Kiku's feet.

It confused the boy as to why no one seemed to have changed—no one seemed to _care_. Customers still came by returning certain pets or renting out others. There was still a side room where Kiku 'bred' new pets—Peter was glad he never actually was brought in there; the sounds of the whips, moans, and yells was enough. And Ivan still occasionally dropped by, occasionally to get a pet himself, though Ivan never actually acknowledged Peter's existence.

_America's judicial system sucks…_

But at least there was one thing that he could look forward to occasionally. Well, as close to 'look forward' as he could get in the situation that he was in.

There was a couple that dropped by once in a while, though sometimes it seemed more like a permanent pet/master thing than a couple. But whatever relationship they were involved in, Wang Yao and Im Yong Soo were always entertaining—as entertaining as the _enjoyable_ things got for Peter, anyways. There were many interesting things that happened to Peter each day, but those… he didn't quite want to repeat. After all, the boy could have sworn that he was practically raped by now. Actually, losing his virginity would be so much better than the things that he was subjected to daily. Almost _anything _would be better.

But Peter could see no end in sight. As much as he tried to keep himself hopeful that things would change, as the days went by, Peter lost more and more of his light. Soon, he was just like a doll, pushed around and yelled into doing what he needed to. There was no energy in anything that Peter did anymore. He was just a limp doll sitting between the knees of a master that he never wanted. And it was only a matter of time before he was subject to all the 'training' that all the other 'pets' received.

Frankly, that wasn't quite what most would call a 'motivating' outlook.

And that was how most of Peter's days passed for a whole month. He did nothing but sit there, getting teased, forced to do very humiliating things from which Peter shied away every time they were mentioned.

But on one morning of a certain day, though Peter had no clue what day it was, since he had lost track long ago in the darkness of the dungeon-like room. Ironic that the room was actually _upstairs_, but that was beside the point.

On one morning—or was it night?—a certain curious customer came calling. He was sketchy and suspicious looking, like most of Kiku's patrons. But there was also something different about him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was actually dressed in a suit… Most didn't come dressed so nicely. Of course, that only meant greater money to Kiku.

As the customer approached, Kiku stood up—something he rarely did—and approached the interesting man, hand extended. With a small removed smile, Kiku greeted the new customer.

"Good evening," Kiku murmured. On a side note, Peter at least now knew that it was evening. That was a plus if this was going to turn out like every single other business deal with Kiku.

"Evening," the stranger replied. Peter looked up at the man with a quizzical look, which earned him a slap from Kiku. Right. Peter had forgotten that he was ordered to never look straight at a customer, since that would be 'rude.'

But that voice… It was deeper and a little more refined and sinister than he had remembered, but Peter could have sworn that it was… Well, it definitely wasn't, so what point was there in dwelling on the matter?

Peter glumly returned his gaze to the ground, returning to the pet that he was supposed to be. But he could have sworn that he recognized that voice… Not to mention that the face he saw in the very small lighting he received from his perspective looked very familiar.

But of course, that was impossible. There was no way that that was who he thought it was.

And so, Peter sat there, leaning against Kiku's leg out of habit, waiting for the nightmare to be over…

* * *

On the biggest morning of Alfred's life, Alfred woke up _late_. Alfred couldn't believe it when he looked at the clock and saw that it was close to three. God this was going worse than he had planned it already.

Quickly getting out of bed, Alfred got ready in one of his best suits. Making sure that he looked like someone with a lot of money—_a lot_ meaning the level of Warren Buffett or something—Alfred got into his car and drove out to the area of Ivan's house with two nondescript black suitcases in hand.

Walking down the street in the most nonchalant fashion he could muster, Alfred's eye darted around searching for some suspicious man or something that could be trailing him. He was in the enemy's zone after all.

Finding nothing out of the ordinary—little did Alfred know that he was being watched by a very amused Russian, who was suiting himself up for his grand entrance into the scheme—Alfred approached the back door of Kiku's house with a key that had been delivered to him by Anh a while back. That woman was a godsend with an odd fetish for long wooden paddles.

_How ironic…_ God the world was full of irony all of a sudden! It was almost as if Alfred's life revolved around Arthur and irony nowadays… _Get a key from the woman with a thing for paddles to save a boy from the receiving end of another type of paddle…_ Alfred almost chuckled. Almost.

Gaining entry to the inside of the house, Alfred knew that he still needed to pass all of Kiku's relatives and their stupid password test questions.

Readying himself, he calmly answered questions about the weather, the news last night, the new neighbor down the street, the cat that had started inhabiting the corner of the garden, and the wonderful wedding of some woman in the family named Chen Yan Lin to some other guy by the name of Kong Tian An. Whatever the question, Alfred was ready with the correct answer.

Faster than he had counted upon, Alfred found himself at the door of the dark room. From within and all down the hall, Alfred could hear sounds of something that he definitely didn't want to think about, because it sounded very… traumatizing, but more so because it reminded Alfred too much about a certain blond Englishman. It was just the tiniest bit more awkward than usual for Alfred, since he was going into this _innocent_ man's house for this specific mission about Peter. Getting a hard on about Peter's brother at the moment wasn't really part of the plan.

Taking a mental deep breath, Alfred entered the entrance chamber to the main room and the pageboy opened the door, announcing the guest.

Trying his best to mentally prepare, Alfred straightened out his suit and attempted to make himself presentable while still keeping most of his features in obscurity. Gaining permission to enter, Alfred stepped past the pageboy and more so felt the door close behind him than heard it. Alfred's escape route had just been sealed. Now he was in a dark room with the head of the Yakuza, the neighbor of the leader of the Russian Bratva, friend of the head of the Sānhéhuì, who was the apparent "owner" of the leader of the Jopok in the Jeollado region. Oh how _nice_. How _safe_.

Alfred made his way into the room, making sure to keep his face hidden enough so that he couldn't be easily recognized. He had also attempted to change his voice while still making it seem normal.

The bodies strewn everywhere were sending shivers down his spine, and Alfred did his best to avoid the coital activities down below, stepping over fornication wherever he encountered it.

When the lawyer gave a small glance up to the chair where Kiku was sitting but starting to shift a little due to the arrival of a new customer, he had to fight back a sudden widening of his eyes.

It was unmistakable. That was Peter.

Alfred felt ready to throw up. The boy was chained up in a collar and practically naked except for some leather underwear probably there for more fetish fulfilling purposes than anything.

God Alfred had no idea how people got turned on by this stuff…

Actually, he did, but Alfred didn't want to have images of a chained up Brit at the moment. This wasn't the time for such stupid thoughts.

Alfred swallowed mentally as Kiku stood and walked over, Peter obediently crawling behind him attached to a leash.

Alfred fought back a shudder. The boy seemed so… utterly dismal that heartbreaking was a grand understatement. And seeing how broken with despair Peter already was only after one month was sickening.

_If that judge knew what she had done…_

Alfred actually was starting to hate himself for ever having helped Ivan with getting Peter into his custody. Alfred hadn't known back then that it could have been this horrible… Sure, he could have—_should_ have—put the facts together based on the illegal events involved in Ivan's affidavit and story, but he hadn't. And Arthur had actually known that this was most probably going to happen to Peter…

Coming into this, Alfred wasn't sure if his self-loathing could get any worse, but now he was _positive_ that it could. God, now that he actually could start to understand the actual situation, Alfred couldn't believe himself. Arthur had known that all of this was going to happen… Arthur had _come_ from this.

And worst of all, Arthur knew that Alfred had helped to get Peter to this.

_God you're an idiot, you know that?_

Now, Alfred was trying to right that. Hopefully, Ivan wouldn't find out. And if he did, hopefully, he'd go after Alfred instead of Arthur. The last thing that Alfred wanted was for his efforts to cause Arthur to join the party rather than assist Peter in leaving it.

Struggling to remain calm with the knowledge that hundreds probably died before getting even this far, and a hundred more died before going further, Alfred looked down at the extended hand with mild surprise, though he didn't show it. Did Kiku usually get up to greet people personally like this?

Not questioning it further, Alfred took the hand and smiled with the same amount of removed cynical backstabbing that Kiku had and replied, "Evening," wincing inwardly when Kiku slapped Peter.

_Dear god… To think that I once thought myself the bringer of justice. Pah. Yeah right._

But there would be time to wallow in self-hatred later on. Now wasn't the time. Now was the moment to try and smooth talk Kiku into something that he probably would never consider doing.

_You're not a champion of speech and debate for no reason!_ Alfred tried to remind himself, trying to comfort himself.

_Who am I kidding? You brought yourself into this, dumbass. It's now your turn to right the mess you had made in the first place!_

Exchanging a little small talk afterwards, they finally settled down on the subject of… well, Kiku's _business_.

"Is there a particular type you like, Mr…?" Kiku asked, trailing off, obviously asking for a name.

Alfred just smiled, trying to mimic Ivan's capacity for innocent danger, though sure that he looked more ridiculous than anything else.

"Day. Eric Day." It was a name that Alfred had thought up on the spot. Honestly, he rarely ever planned out things well. This was probably his best thought out plan yet, though again, honestly, it was mostly Anh. Without her, Alfred would have jumped into this thing not even knowing Kiku's location, let alone be able to gain access like he had.

"Ah, Mister Day. Well?" Alfred found Kiku's soft voice a little unnerving.

Alfred looked around him and frowned. "I'm not picky, but I like 'em young. Fresh. _Untouched_, if you know what I mean. Obedient…"

Alfred wandered around for a bit, figuring that he had the liberty to do so as a customer. He pretended to examine a few of the bodies rolling around on the ground, or hanging against the wall, getting more and more disgusted as he went on.

_God Arthur… I'm sorry… So sorry…_

Finally, with an attempted sound of high-held distaste and disappointment, Alfred turned back to Kiku—who had remained quiet and watching from the side the whole time—frowning.

Pretending that it had suddenly taken him by surprise, Alfred's eyes landed on Peter, who was still kneeling at Kiku's feet, leaning lazily against the Japanese man's knee without any light in his eyes.

"What about him?" Alfred asked, leaning down and putting his hand on the bottom of Peter's chin, turning it sharply so that Peter had to look up. Alfred hated doing that, but he figured that he had to act like some stuck up rich guy to complete the image change.

Of course, Peter's obedient turning still bore into Alfred's heart.

_So sorry, Arthur…_

Peter said nothing, avoiding gazing at Alfred, since that would no doubt earn him another smart rap from Kiku. Frankly, his butt and cheeks hurt enough already.

Kiku was about to yell at Alfred out of habit when he realized that Peter was actually _his_ now. Ivan had made it clear that he didn't care about what happened to Peter anymore, since Ivan's joy had been obtained from the matter and Kiku could do whatever.

_He can make money for me…_ Kiku thought, smiling a very chill inducing smile.

"He…" Kiku started, wondering at what price Peter should be put.

Peter looked up at Kiku in surprise. What was this? Kiku had never rented him before! And Peter wasn't even properly _trained_—though he was relatively glad to admit that.

Nevertheless, panic struck the poor boy, and instinctively, he wrenched out of Alfred's grip, which let him go without a fight.

Kiku reached down and grabbed the boy's ear, giving it a sharp twist, though the Japanese man kept his eyes on his customer almost as if no punishment was being dealt.

"He's not properly trained," Kiku murmured, "But I assure you that he is as young as they get. Only thirteen."

Disgusted on the inside, Alfred forced himself to a smile that he hoped looked genuine.

With what he felt was a sly smile, Alfred murmured, "Now… If I rent him, can I train him myself?"

Kiku flinched inwardly, even if he didn't show it in the slightest. He always preferred to personally begin the training himself, and then let his personal trainers do the rest.

But perhaps the money that this man brought would be worth it.

"It'll cost more, of course," Kiku replied with a courteous smile that sent shivers down Alfred's spine.

Peter's eyes widened further, even if he knew not to look up from the pain he still felt around his ear. If Kiku was renting him off _and_ actually considering letting the man train him, Peter actually wanted to die. He had been too young at the time of Arthur's marriage to be in on the "things" that were happening to his older brother—and frankly, he figured that he was still too young… But Peter now couldn't understand how his brother could ever have been in love with such a sadistic man.

Well, though this wasn't technically the man that Arthur had been in love with, Peter could only imagine that it got _worse_ with Ivan. That man was downright sadistic, whereas Kiku at least occasionally tired of keeping Peter hostage at his feet. Peter actually got to sleep, chain- and cuff-free, on a comfortable bed, at a reasonable time.

With Ivan, Peter wasn't sure if sleep was even in the man's To-Do list, since… well… beds seemed to be for _other_ things…

Peter was actually a little relieved when his thoughts were prevented from journeying further by Alfred's reply.

"Of course," Alfred agreed. "How about I try him out? Say… a week or so?"

Kiku was startled, though he didn't show it. A week? For Peter? All right… That wasn't quite what he had been expecting. He had actually thought that the man would have been so excited about the prospect of having Peter in bed to train himself that Alfred would have jumped at the opportunity…

With a courteous smile as usual, Kiku smiled.

"Certainly. Any price that you would prefer?"

Alfred chuckled, attempting to have an air of careless abandon with issues relating to money. He was just _that_ rich. At least, Kiku had to believe that.

"No, no," Alfred replied. "As long as I feel that it is fitting for renting the boy for one week, I will provide any money that you need."

Peter was practically trembling now, not wanting to imagine the future that awaited him. Kiku at least only made him sit there and look beautiful, occasionally almost sticking things… up places that they didn't belong. But it was always _almost_. With this man, Peter wasn't sure of anything.

It was evident that Kiku was delighted at the news. People like this meant that he could calculate the price however he wanted. And rich guys like these didn't even care most of the time. They just wanted their bitch, and Kiku was always here to provide.

Doing some quick calculations in his head, Kiku came up to his sum.

"I would say… one million for the week."

That was a pretty hefty price considering most of Kiku's other 'business transactions,' but the Japanese man figured that it was worth it.

Peter, on the other hand, let out a small sigh of relief. No one would be willing to pay that much for a thirteen year old inexperienced virgin, right? Definitely not. Perhaps Kiku had gone too far and Peter was actually safe. Just perhaps.

"But before you think on it too much," Kiku added, "You must understand that such a fine and tight young virgin such as he would call for a higher price, especially when I rarely ever let my customers do the breaking. The boy hasn't even had a toothpick up in there yet. I'm sure you'll enjoy him."

_Please God,_ Peter hoped,_ Please let him be poor. Please…_

Alfred smirked. Though that was a very high price—and definitely something that he couldn't keep going for year after year, all he needed was one week, after all. Maybe less.

"Wonderful. Much less than I was expecting, actually." _Yeah. That's right. Pretend like you have a lot more than you actually do…_ That sum was actually just about what he got paid a year. Alfred knew that he had a salary to die for, but he also had the skills to deserve it. Few lawyers ever made it this far in their whole lives, and Alfred was only twenty-two. Still much further to go.

All that didn't matter though. Alfred had grown sick and tired of the superficial world. Money was nothing. Arthur was everything.

_God how I've changed! And it's only been… four months or so…_

Peter's heart sunk when he had heard those words. There really was no point in living. Perhaps if he didn't cooperate, he'd get shot or something. Actually, he wouldn't. He had realized that he was far to valuable to be harmed… At least, harmed in any way that would be permanent.

Kiku was delighted in the deal, never thinking that Ivan's small pleasures could ever bring him such money. Being in a deal with the Bratva was always so sweet. Of course, he was the tiniest bit miffed that Alfred had been expecting more, but that was already past. No use crying over spilt blood.

"Then it is done. How will you pay? As you know, I can't do much in the way of the public, since transferring that much money so suddenly would be… startling, shall we say."

Alfred nodded, understanding perfectly well. He had been in many cases involving mysterious and suspicious transactions. Alfred knew far too well what the risks were.

Though he almost let his façade down by a small chuckle, thinking again about the irony of the situation. Never had he thought that he would be the one on the other side of the crime.

"I can pay cash," Alfred replied. But before he could say more, Kiku jumped in.

"Of course, you must know that I charge interest…" The customer must always be warned, even if there was usually nothing they could do about it. And if Kiku was lucky enough, the man would fall into a vicious cycle of debt and then be forced to work for Kiku.

_Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, shall we?_ Kiku mused, already imagining all the _possibilities__._

"In full," Alfred finished.

Kiku's eyes widened ever so slightly. This was a first. One million cash in full? Was he hearing this right?

"Sir," Kiku murmured. "Do you have it with you?"

Alfred materialized the two suitcases that he had come with, holding them out to Kiku, who took them with great excitement. No one _ever_ paid so much on the spot. Ever.

"In there is one million five hundred thousand. Consider the rest a… token of thanks for allowing me the honor of breaking this little one in."

Kiku laughed. It was a maniacal sound, but also one that was meant to signify that he looked forward to what he hoped would be a long relationship between the two. He was taking a liking to this new customer already.

Never one to ask questions about money or his customers, Kiku handed the leash over to Alfred. The Japanese man then snapped and two women quickly appeared, dressed like nurses. They changed Peter—who had remained solemnly quiet throughout the whole transaction—with lighting fast, practiced skill and handed Alfred a briefcase with other… materials that came along with each pet.

Nodding and giving Kiku a chillingly warm smile, Alfred tipped his hat just a little and turned around, leading his new "pet" off to supposedly have the time of his life for one week.

Hopefully, Peter would never be back.

Once they had headed outside the Throne Room of Kiku's house, there was still the maze procession back to the back door. And Alfred still had to answer all of the questions that came to him.

Trying to make it look not at all suspicious, Alfred roughly yanked Peter along with as much power as he dared to use, not wanting to actually harm his lover's brother.

_Correction. Love, not lover. My love's brother._

Of course, that was a glum thought, but Alfred preferred to keep to reality rather than hide it behind dreams and wishes that would never come true. Ever.

Peter, on the other hand, was looking for all the opportunities he could to mess things up. He had tried resisting, but the man had a surprisingly strong grip. He then tried to find out the man's identity, but Alfred had evaded those advances skillfully enough. Soon, Peter was just reduced to quietly walking along, exuberating what he hoped to be the most downright depressing feeling ever.

Alfred felt it, but he said nothing. It pained his heart, but he had gone too far in the plan to mess up now with a stupid show of sympathy or something. Hopefully, it would be over soon. Hopefully.

They went out the back door and around the house, where Alfred relaxed his grip just a little to try and not seem suspicious to the neighbors. Of course, he wouldn't be surprised if _everyone _could see through his guise.

Peter, on the other hand, was just blinded. Having spent a month in almost constant artificial and dim lighting, the sun was a terrific and terrifying thing. He had to shield his eyes for quite a while before they got used to things. Not to mention walking felt weird too. He almost felt normal again. _Almost_.

The notion of his fate had still not escaped him though. Peter knew that he was being led into probably the darkest days of his life. And the more he wished it to end, the longer it'd probably remain.

All was going well…

That is, until they reached the car.

Alfred had made special care to get another car that was not at all recognizable to be anything that he had ever driven or would most likely drive. It was a pickup truck that he borrowed from a friend of his.

About to open the door, Alfred took the chance to look up.

Immediately, his eyes widened in shock. Peter had looked up also, and now his face was pale. He felt his knees grow weak as he fell to the ground with the feeling of being terribly sick.

Both of them had come face to face with a pair of amused, but startlingly dangerous pair of violet eyes.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Heya! Maggie is back with another chapter! I'm actually toying with an idea right now (and a very maniacal one, at that). I'm not telling you all what it is, but I sure hope that you all will like it. It has to do with my great love for tragedies (though I assure you that this still has a happy ending… Sorta…). xD

So anyways, I think that this chapter has taken the record for being the longest chapter yet, even if nothing much really happens in it. I apologize for nothing climactic or particularly heart wrenching. To be honest, it almost feelings like a filler chapter to me…

But whatever it is, I still hope that you've enjoyed it!

News about me… Well, I lost that history competition that I had an all-nighter for, but I'm glad for it. Odd, I know, but still… I don't have to do the work for it anymore! And I died fighting, so it's all good!

Umm… Other than that, I'm doing a singing competition called Sing It! up at VAA (Voice Acting Alliance). Google the place if you don't know. It's a wonderful place to start voice acting. xD

HOLY COW! Okay, so I was wayyyy down below, writing the part about the next contest question when a classmate of mine on Facebook writes on my wall that I have the equivalent of... about five and a half essays due tomorrow in this one class. They (the teachers) _just_ notified us all of that. So I felt like this was important enough that I had to stop writing my contest question, come back up here, and write about it. Oh, and I also have about... 137 pages of a textbook to read too, or so the nonchalantly added. Damn! Why do these teachers notify us at 10:45 p.m. on Sunday?! There's no way I can get it done by tomorrow! D:

But anyways...

A couple side notes about the story…

**The two characters who got married in Kiku's family that Alfred got questioned about were:  
**Chen Yan Lin – Taiwan  
Kong Tian An – Hong Kong

Yes, this is the first straight pairing in this thing, I think. I usually don't care much about Hong Kong to ship him with anyone, but... I don't know. I guess I felt like putting them in. And if I were to ship Hong Kong with anyone (or more _to _anyone), it'd be to China in a box labeled "FUCK." xD  
Yes, I made up their names, since there are no fanon nor canon ones.

**Umm... I guess, for reference, the "evil" related things are below:**

Yakuza – Japanese Mafia  
Bratva – Russian "Mafiya"  
Sānhéhuì – Chinese Mafia  
Jopok – Korean Mafia

Jeollado region – A region in Korea well known for its gang activities

**THE AGE THING (someone came asking recently about their ages and stuff in relation to each other, so I figured that here it was, for everyone who ever wondered):**

Peter – 13  
Arthur – 22 (very close to 23)  
Ivan – 24  
Alfred – 22 (birthday about five months ago)*

*Alfred is a very smart and successful lawyer, and though sometimes he may be an idiot, he actually graduated early from law school and passed the BAR exam with only one year or so _in_ law school.

**SNL:**

I was watching SNL (Saturday Night Live) yesterday—for those of you who don't know what this is, it is a comedy show that takes place every Saturday night and people just do funny skits and stuff like that—and they had this game show. On there were two contestants (mock contestants, of course): a Broadway star (female) and a Russian ballerina (male).**  
**The point of the game is to do something like... well, I forgot what that show is, but the point is, one person is supposed to explain the secret word to the other person, never actually saying the word itself. The other person is then supposed to guess.  
I just found this so funny in terms of Russians and Ivan that I just HAD to put it on here for you guys.  
From here on out, the Russian shall be labeled "Russian" and his partner labeled "Partner."

Here goes...**  
**

**Secret word: vodka**

**Russian: **Oh this is too easy... You have this in the morning with beets!

**Partner:** Water?

**Russian: **No! Think! Umm... Okay, this should make it obvious. When your baby is thirsty, he drinks this.

**Partner:** Umm... milk?

**Russian: **No, idiot! Concentrate!

That's as far as that little bantering went. But wasn't that hilarious? Well, at least I thought it was. It's all right if you all don't have my really awkward humor... -_-" *shot*

But anyways, thank you guys for sticking with me! I love you all! I hope that you all don't die! HUGS!

- Galythia

P.S. Congrats to icequeen76 for getting the previous question right! "Kesese" is in fact synonymous with our lovely (and awesome) Prussia! And he always tends to say something along the lines of "I'm awesome today" or something like that in his journals.

The prize for the last winner is up! It's my new oneshot, "A Polite Secret," pairing England and Canada! It's... interesting. Hehe... Read it if you will. Review it if you are ever so inclined. Every review makes me happy. =D

All my other prizes can be found on deviantART. The link to my dA is on my profile (though I must warn you to wear glasses, for your eyes may bleed without proper protection).

NEW QUESTION!

Umm... In the Hetalia timeline, what happened on... 23 August 1939 and July 1947? They may or may not be related events. These are actual things that are mentioned somewhere in Hetalia lore with actual Hetalia characters. It may or may not be historically accurate to people like... Charles A. Beard (stupid historian whose papers I have to read), but it's accurate to us and Hidekaz! xD


	21. Chapter 20

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 20

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Alfred:** Holy cow... I actually feel kinda... sad...

**Arthur:** Kinda?! I'm crying here! WHY?!

**Francis:** Perhaps it is... love? Hm?

**Arthur: **France, shut up. No one cares about you and your love. No wonder you get such fandom hatred.

**Ivan:** Arthur... be nice...

*Arthur runs away to Alfred out of instinct*

**Ivan:** I find it so amusing that you two are acting just like Galythia is writing

**Arthur:** *cough* I don't know what you're talking about

**Alfred: **Well, I am hungry, if that's what you're saying, Ivan~

**Arthur:** *facepalm*

* * *

Arthur had taken to wandering the streets in search of something he couldn't find. The tears were gone, replaced by eyes that never looked at anything anymore. They were just blank. Arthur was abstracted from the world around him, turned into the ghost of the person he used to be.  
Arthur found himself gripped vehemently by a desperate search, almost as if fate had him in a chokehold. He walked around, sometimes in circles, just looking… looking… But after so much aimless wandering, Arthur wasn't even sure what he was looking for anymore. He was losing sight of himself.

_Peter… Alfred… Peter… Alfred… Ivan… Peter… Alfred…_

That was basically the pattern of Arthur's thoughts as he went through the day, not sure if he was even looking for them anymore. He was just looking for _something_, whatever that something may be.

During the day, Arthur would walk around New York City, not sure where to go or what to do. But he always came back to the same place to rest at night. But day and night started to mesh together into one impossibly malleable ball of gooey misery that Arthur just wanted to squash under his feet and forget about forever. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw a flash of dirty blonde that was reminiscent of Alfred's hair; other times, Arthur could have sworn that he heard the unmistakable clanging of the odd pipe that Ivan was so fond of. It always sent shivers running down Arthur's body, and he wrapped his sordid jacket around him even tighter at those times.

Arthur never felt secure anymore. He was going insane, growing paranoid about everything and everyone. Once, he remembered staring ferociously at the pigeons, threatening them that if they brought information to Ivan about his whereabouts and humiliating condition, he would break out his kung fu on them. Apparently, Arthur forgot about the fact that pigeons didn't speak English, and that he himself didn't know any form on martial arts. Otherwise, he probably would have beaten up on Ivan in the car, rather than let himself be… taken advantage of in such a manner. But all of that didn't really matter when Arthur talked to pigeons, did it?

At night, Arthur would lie around, tossing and turning in a restless sleep that would leave him feeling terribly disoriented in the morning—whatever the morning was anymore. The nights seem to mess around with him until he wasn't sure what was a dream and what was sleep anymore. All he could remember in the morning was tossing and turning, seeing things that probably were never there, and feeling an utter sense of loss and hopeless searching wash over him in waves and waves that got stronger as they went on. He had to admit that it wasn't the best feeling…

And so, Arthur took to not sleeping. Or at least he tried to sleep as little as possible. He hated the disoriented state that sleeping left him in, and so he tried to avoid that as much as possible. But sometimes, Arthur would just have to stop and sit down against whatever surface he could find and sleep. His body just wouldn't let him continue anymore in such a startlingly enervated state.

But it was at those times that Arthur found the best sleep he had had in a while, meaning that it wasn't riddled with tossing and turning and odd dreams that he couldn't remember upon waking up. Arthur found peace at those times. That was the reason why he decided to stick with his new way of life—the way of life of wearing himself out to the most fatigued state possible, then taking a long rest wherever he could find it. It was the way that brought him the most peace—though the times he spent awake and wandering, frantically looking for something he couldn't remember nor find, were anything but peaceful. But the extremely fatigued sleep brought him peace. And god knows he needed as much peace as he could get.

* * *

Alfred felt his body seizing up, freezing with the fear that crashed over his body in waves that threatened to knock him over had his feet not felt like they were glued to the ground in that permanent position. The smile that Ivan wore was so sweet and innocent that it utterly unnerved Alfred beyond anything else he had ever seen.

_Ivan should have been a lawyer,_ Alfred couldn't help thinking. _He would have won with just the smile…_

Alfred felt Peter's hand slip out of his own as Peter dropped to his knees in despair. Alfred could feel the hopelessness that emanated from the small boy, and that feeling renewed Alfred's will to fight back against Ivan. All of his own fear—well, most of it—was pushed aside when he remembered his goal of Arthur's happiness—and by virtue, Peter's happiness also. Yes. He was doing good by being here, facing this Russian mob leader. Good. Right.

_I'm the hero. I can handle this. No problem…_ Alfred felt that that was much easier said than done.

Alfred was barely able to suppress a flinch when Ivan stood up from his leaning position against the truck and started leaning on his pipe instead.

_God why does every mob leader have a pipe? And why is this a metal-pipe-cane-water-faucet thing? Does it hurt mo—Don't think about it. Be strong. Hero. Arthur. Right._

Alfred puffed up his chest in what he felt was a heroic stance, though it just made him look more like an idiot. But as long as it made Alfred _feel_ right, he didn't care how he looked—though looking menacing would have been a wonderful plus.

Peter by now was a quivering puddle next to Alfred, slightly behind Alfred's leg. He was shaking uncontrollably, and was trying his best to keep back his tears, for Peter had learned long ago that Ivan took great pleasure in tears, though he took the most pleasure in Arthur's tears. Peter was as close to Arthur as Ivan would get… for now.

Alfred instinctively stepped in front of Peter, though he wasn't sure if that was the best idea for his own courage and self-assurance. Alfred swallowed loudly, but he stood his ground nevertheless. Still, Alfred couldn't help but wish he had his briefcase back, even if it was empty, since it would have served as a much better shield than Alfred's own hands.

"Alfred," Ivan murmured in his condescending yet oh so innocent voice. "May I ask what you are doing?"

Somehow, that didn't seem as open ended a question as it should have.

Alfred could feel the sweat forming as he tried to think of a good answer. And how was he supposed to answer the way he wanted to, complete with swears, if there was a thirteen year old boy at his feet?

"Mr. Bragi—"

"Ivan."

"… All right. Ivan, then." _What an unnerving smile…_ "Can we… talk about this… perhaps, over some coffee at Feliciano's?" Alfred already knew the answer, but it was worth a try, wasn't it?

"Oh dear Alfred… I think you and I both know that that is quite impossible, da?"

Alfred cleared his throat, mustering up all of his willpower to not reach a hand up and loosen his collar. Why did ties have to be tied so chokingly tight to have them look nice and decent? Whoever invented them was stupid, Alfred decided.

"… Yes. But how about we put Peter here safely in the car first?" Alfred knew that he was taking a risk by implying that he would be able to walk away from this with Peter safely at hand—and be _able_ to walk away from this at all. But hopefully, Ivan's delicate balance of innocent axe murderer would refrain him from taking any physical action at the present moment.

Ivan didn't even appear to think about it as he immediately replied, "Of course. We wouldn't want to harm the little child, would we? Yes… Let's put him in the car first, then we can chat out here amongst ourselves, hm?"

Alfred shuddered as that smile landed upon him once again. How the hell do Russians always appear so scary? Or was it just this one Russian that had that menacing ability? _No wonder the Cold War was so unnerving…_

Peter didn't look up as he was being talked about, but he did look up when he felt Alfred's hands gently lift him up by the armpits. Peter tried to stand on his own, but his shaky legs would not allow it.

Alfred hastily opened the door, trying to keep an eye on the Russian, who was—thankfully—standing off to the side so that he was easily kept in Alfred's peripheral. Peter hoisted himself inside with a little help by Alfred.

"Lock the door," Alfred whispered, and slammed the door shut, the extra force doing no difference to the level of minimal security, but it helped Alfred's poor heart.

Turning back to the Russian that he found himself having nightmares about, Alfred forced himself to look up and meet Ivan's eyes. He almost balked the moment his own eyes met with violet ones evenly gazing back at him with an almost _amused_ expression. Almost. Alfred frankly had no idea how he ever managed to stand his ground and keep their eyes locked to each other.

"So… Alfred…" Ivan murmured, walking slowly closer, trailing his pipe on the hood of the car oh so gently. "It is obvious to me what you are doing, so you need not explain. It's a miracle what technology can bring us, da?"

Alfred swallowed rather loudly and nodded, all of his energy taken up with just keeping Ivan's gaze. Alfred had no ability to speak in reply, nor did he have the ambition to do so, for that matter.

Ivan chuckled softly—something that made Alfred shudder involuntarily—and looked away to observe his pipe for a moment, studying it in a half disinterested but amused manner, and continued. "Quite a stunt you pulled in the records… Lucky that the other lawyer showed up to distract the guard, right?"

Alfred's eyes widened. Ivan knew? God how powerful was this network of Ivan's? Damn Russians probably took over the world and all the politicians are just scared to admit it.

Alfred held no reply, except for the obvious surprise at finding out Ivan's power network. Ivan continued after studying the American's face a little.

"But no matter. I admire the lengths you went through for someone so… _lovely_ as Arthur. Pity that this"—Ivan gestured to Peter, whom they could see through the windshield, and was cowering in a ball on the passenger seat, not looking up—"would stop dear Arthur's beautiful tears. He is most gorgeous when crying."

That little comment kindled the fire within Alfred's heart. This Russian in front of him was so despicable! Alfred would have let that go if the comment was made about anyone else, but Arthur? No one was going to get away with commenting so offhandedly about something so horrible pertaining to Arthur. Alfred would make sure of that, even if his efforts against Ivan were probably futile.

"Y-you… you… how dare you smile when talking about Arthur's tears?" Alfred yelled out, gathering courage in his heart. "Arthur is ten times a better man than you'll ever be. He should _never_ cry."

Alfred's eyes narrowed challengingly, staring hard into Ivan's unfazed gaze. The unmoving and unchanging nature of Ivan's gaze threw off Alfred a little, but Ivan's amused comment had sparked enough of the fight within Alfred that it didn't get to him too much. Alfred couldn't help flinching a little when Ivan brought his pipe up and gripped it with both hands in front of his chest. It wasn't his fault that it was human nature's natural _survival_ instinct that caused him to do such.

"Well, he does, and it's beautiful," Ivan replied without hesitating. Alfred frowned. That slight smile was just so utterly annoying that Alfred almost punched Ivan just to get rid of it. Almost. His human survival instinct was keeping him back. Ivan could read the violence well enough though, and it only pleased him further.

"But I'll be nice, just for _you_, and let Peter go back to Arthur. _But_~ I have some conditions."

Alfred found himself stepping out of his fighting stance, which he didn't realize he had taken in the first place. Those were the last words that he had expected Ivan to say. Ivan was going to let Peter go? What about the stupid—and probably lucrative—sex trade that was going on or something? It was sick, no doubt about that, and thoughts of it made Alfred gag, but Alfred was a lawyer, and he could see the value of someone so… pliable as Peter. Why was Ivan letting Peter go?

Then the lawyer remembered the comment about the conditions. _Uh oh…_ Alfred had a vague feeling that if he chose the conditions—_when_ he chose the conditions, since there wasn't much else to choose—he would find out why Ivan was letting Peter go so easily… and that it would make sense… which meant that Alfred already hated those conditions with all of his heart.

Warily, Alfred murmured, "All right… What are these conditions?" He tried to maintain some semblance of dignity and calmness, despite the fact that he was blown away by the fact that there was even an offer in the first place. Alfred knew that unless it involved harm to Peter or Arthur, he would accept it. He already knew that, but he couldn't let Ivan knew that he had won already. No. That would only please the Russian too much.

Ivan's smile widened, showing that Alfred had picked the expected choice. Of course, the both of them knew that there really wasn't much of a choice in the first place, but the satisfaction on Ivan's face made Alfred _really_ want to punch the Russian. Thankfully, Alfred loved his life enough to not even twitch.

"Simple," Ivan replied, still smiling that awfully frustrating grin—it was as close to a grin as Ivan would ever get. "Arthur and Peter move to England. I'll provide the housing and money to start off. They can start taking things over from there, and eventually, they'll be off of my _goodwill_."

Alfred spat inwardly. _Goodwill my ass. This is all your fault!_ Actually, it was also Alfred's fault, but he really didn't want to think about that at the moment. Making himself miserable wasn't going to help matters. He could do that once he got home.

Once he calmed enough past his initial anger to actually listen to Ivan's conditions and think about it, he found that the conditions weren't that bad. Arthur and Peter could start a new life and hopefully they could forget about the horrors they had faced here. England had a wonderful education system, and though the weather didn't suit Alfred that much, he somehow felt that Arthur would be much more comfortable there.

"Wait. What about the legal aspects of Arthur's moving and the money issue?" Alfred had been involved in too many cases pertaining to such topics to not be careful. And now that he was facing the grand master of all things illegal, Alfred needed assurance that things would work out. There would be no tricks if he could help it.

Ivan chuckled and began to stroke his pipe slowly, gaze evenly resting on Alfred. "Everything will be legally sound, I assure you. Money will be transferred to a newly opened bank account, kept in Switzerland, in a slow manner that won't attract any attention. Their house will be legally theirs, as a_… gift_, for lack of a better word. I'll even send you all of the documents."

Alfred kept suspicion in his eyes, but deep down, he still knew that he'd accept the wager. He'd have to take Ivan up on that offer to look over the papers, but that could be done later. The important thing was the child currently crying in his friend's car and the homeless person who possibly had gotten himself mugged by now.

Alfred opened his mouth to accept the wager, but was stopped by Ivan's next words.

"Not so fast, dear Alfred… There is still… one last thing."

_Damn! I knew that it was too good to be true._ Alfred balked a little, losing eye contact with Ivan as he glanced nervously at Peter, who was still curled up in a ball on the seat.

"What is it?" Alfred asked in a tone much colder than the thought he could muster against Ivan. Apparently, his defensive side of Arthur and Peter made him much more brave than he would ever be otherwise.

Ivan chuckled at Alfred's tone, _tsk_ing softly in a frustratingly belittling manner. Alfred steeled himself up more strongly against Ivan staring hard into the Russian's eyes, even if he could barely stand to do so on the inside.

"I… Tell them what happened here between us however I want to… Oh, actually, one more thing." That statement made it obvious that Ivan was making this up as he went along, which angered Alfred beyond anything else so far. It was so humiliating to have these conditions made up right as they went along. It was like deciding whether or not to kill someone based on a roll of dice. It was the _Russian_ thing to do, Alfred felt. And the childish gleam of happiness in Ivan's eyes only served to further enrage the lawyer.

"You can't have any contact with them for… say… ten years, shall we? Oh… That might be a bit much. We'll say just eight instead. Aren't I so kind when I want to be?" Ivan smiled his innocent 'I'll kill you if you say no' smile and did the classic threatening tap-one-hand-with-the-pipe-using-the-other-hand thing. But that wasn't what was causing the wide gaze of Alfred's eyes. It was the condition that was causing those inward tears. Alfred's heart was crumbling right before him, mostly because he knew that he'd accept the wager anyways, if this was the final condition. He had said that he would accept whatever the terms were, as long as they didn't harm either Arthur or Peter. Alfred wasn't included in that… and no doubt Arthur would actually probably be glad of the fact that both Ivan _and_ Alfred were out of his life. Kill two birds with one stone. How gory.

Ivan experienced great satisfaction and joy at seeing the devastated expression take over Alfred's face. Causing pain was what he did best, and was what he loved to do the most. He stood by patiently for the deal to sink in all the way, and for Alfred to muster up enough heart to reply, with no doubt an agreement. Ivan was sure of that. Love always made people so sacrificial…

Both the lawyer and the Russian gang leader were too occupied in their conversation to notice that Peter had stopped his shaking and was sitting still, not facing the window, but listening to the conversation through the window. After all, car doors didn't automatically make things soundproof.

The moment that last condition was mentioned, Peter froze. That was utterly horrible! It was obvious to the boy how much Alfred really cared for Arthur, even if Peter didn't really coin it as 'love'—though Peter had the suspicion that Alfred really was in love. But nevertheless, even if it wasn't love, Alfred had risked his life to come here and retrieve Peter and make things right again. No human would ever do that unless they _really_ cared. But now Ivan was making it almost impossible for Alfred to ever be properly recognized or forgiven for what he had done.

Peter knew that he was powerless to do anything, but he told himself that he would at least let Arthur know the truth behind things, even if Ivan wouldn't. Alfred couldn't either.

But the younger Kirkland was half expecting Alfred to just decline the deal, since love often made people selfish bastards. That was what Peter had learned based off of his parents' relationship and Arthur's relationship with Ivan. Love always made people selfish, and this case should be no different.

So of course, he was surprised when he heard a deadpan reply come from Alfred that defied his expectations.

"If that is it, then Mr. Braginski, you have an agreement."

Ivan's triumphant smile almost brought Alfred over the edge. It probably would have had he not been so devastated about not being able to see Arthur for another eight years… He wouldn't get the chance to explain himself, to tell Arthur of what he did, to ask for Arthur's forgiveness, to gain back Arthur's trust… Well, he would get the chance after eight years, but by then, who even remembers anymore? Both Arthur and Peter had experienced far too much heartbreak with both Ivan and Alfred that anything pertaining to them would be fast tossed aside. Alfred and Ivan were both painful memories… scabs that needed to heal… Alfred almost laughed. In that instant, Ivan and Alfred were practically in the same situation—Arthur hated them both probably in an equal amount. What a wonderful thought. Oh the irony.

"I thought you would agree," Ivan replied in a crisp but highly delighted tone that showed off his triumph. "Now I know that you'll want to make this agreement legal—well, as legal as it can be, considering the situation involved—and also work out the minor nuances, so how about we discuss it over some coffee at Feliciano's?"

Alfred's eyes snapped up, though they had lost their brightness and fight. All that was left was a defeated man.

"What about Peter?"

"I'll see that he is safely returned to Arthur, and that they are both settled in England in about three days time."

"How can I trust your words?"

"Alfred, I'm true to my word. You just have to make sure that my word has no loopholes."

_That damned smile!_ "No harm will befall both Arthur and Peter?"

"None. I promise."

"Wow, I get the word of a Russian. How assuring," Alfred muttered under his breath. To Ivan, he replied, "We will have to figure out the consequences if what you just said is broken."

"Again, over coffee and Feliciano's. And maybe some vodka and pasta."

"… Can I at least drive Peter to a drop-off point or something?"

"No. The conditions start now. I can't have you in contact with either Peter or Arthur, or the deal is void. I'm sure a lawyer so talented as you will understand."

"Far too well…"

Alfred knew that he had lost, but he had to at least try. There was no way that he trusted Ivan, but Alfred really saw no way around it. He had to let Peter into the fate of Ivan's hands again—the hands from which he had just helped Peter to escape. How utterly ironic this whole _day_ was turning out to be.

Ivan sensed Alfred's untrusting thoughts and added, "You can even send Anh to check on them. I'm sure she won't mind."

Alfred was beyond surprises now. His eyes barely even reacted to the news that Ivan knew who Anh was, or that Anh had been working with Alfred. The Russian just knew too much… just had too much power…

"I'll take you up on that offer, Mr. Braginski."

"Ivan."

"Mr. Braginski."

Ivan relented for the moment and instead took out his phone. Before he dialed anything, Ivan put his phone back in his pocket, rethinking his words.

"On second thought. I'll let you confirm it yourself… But not in a way that you'd particularly enjoy, I'd say. Come with me to Feliciano's right now. We'll take Peter too."

Alfred knew that there were definitely about a million strings attached to Ivan's statement, but again, he saw no other option but to just go with it. Sure, he was a great lawyer, but at the moment, Alfred couldn't even bring up one reason as to why that was so.

Alfred turned, but only enough so that he could walk around to the driver's seat of the car—he didn't want to let Ivan out of his sight for one second. But Ivan had other ideas, and put out an arm to stop Alfred. Alfred paused before they actually touched.

"Not quite, dear Alfred… I'll have my chauffeur come around and he can bring us there. As suspicious as you are of me, I am also quite suspicious in return."

_Yeah right, you bastard… Immoral, unethical, annoying bastard…_ Alfred couldn't help but wonder how the hell Arthur was ever married to this man in the first place…

The car soon pulled up. It was just a regular Honda Accord, for none of the three really wanted to draw attention to the group at the moment. There were already enough issues as it was.

Ivan didn't allow Alfred to even touch Peter as they transferred the boy from one car to another without explanation. Peter didn't ask for one. They figured that he was still far too dumbfounded by the day's events thus far, or by the fact that Ivan and Alfred appeared to be working _together_.

_Probably thinks I'm a traitor…_ But no thoughts could really disturb Alfred now. He was beyond disturbed. The next eight years… possibly the rest of his life… would always be missing some very, very vital piece.

Silently, the three of them went off to Feliciano's Fettuccini.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

Ugh... So much has been happening recently... This chapter is plain trash, and I feel pretty bad about it, since it's one of the vital parts of the plot, yet I can't do it justice. I can barely think right now... It probably has a million mistakes and there is no feeling to it, and I'm sorry. But I don't think I could do better until school ends in like two months or something... Argh... lo siento... Whatever... Spanish... peh...

So imagine the emotion or something. Or someone write a better version of this chapter or something... I'm so sorry that it lacks everything. It's just words, but words are better than nothing. I hope you'll forgive me for it being so short too... I love this story, don't get me wrong, but I haven't been feeling it recently.

So there you have it. Ta-da.

- Galythia

P.S. Congrats to... LolliDictator for getting the last question correct! I'm sorry, but I'm just far too... bleh to think up a question right now. Do forgive me (just like I hope you will for this chapter). Ugh it's nasty... Oh, and beyond the part about Arthur at the beginning, I have absolutely no idea what I wrote. Really.**  
**


	22. Chapter 21

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 21

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur:** Galythia, what in bloody hell is within that door?

**Alfred:** It can't be _that_ bad, Iggy. _I'm_ in there, after all. =]

**Arthur:** That's why I'm worried.

**Francis:** Hey! Don't forget me!

**Arthur: **When the hell do you show up in the whole chapter?

**Francis:** Arthur! I'm appalled that you have forgotten our time dearly spent together, mon cher!

**Ivan:** Now, now, Francis… Don't be going after _my_ Arthur…

**Alfred:** Your Arthur? _YOUR ARTHUR?_ When did that happen?

**Arthur:** It never did, idiot!

**Ivan:** *smiles the Ivan Way* That's not what Galythia thinks…

**Arthur:** Galythia, I bloody _despise_ you.

* * *

Arthur was once again sitting in Heracles's coffee house, sipping his cup of hot chocolate for which he only played half price. Sadiq found the time to drop by today on his way to a fashion show that night, and due to his presence, Heracles was feeling quite benevolent—not that he wasn't usually. Of course, Heracles probably wouldn't have noticed much of anything while he was snogging Sadiq in the back room.

Arthur took advantage of this time, taking all the godsend gifts that he could with his present situation. His wandering state hadn't gone away, though. If anything, it had gotten worse. Before, Arthur had been walking aimlessly in search of something that he didn't know. But _now_, Arthur felt like the knowledge of what it was that he was trying to find was just barely in his grasp. He would wake up, drenched in sweat, and feel that he had woken up from his dream a second too early, right before the object for which he was searching was just about to be revealed. And the names 'Peter' and 'Alfred' kept repeating themselves in his mind, even if Arthur knew no meaning in them anymore. He had been searching far too long, and the search didn't seem like it would end soon.

As the Brit took gentle sips of his still steaming cup, his mind tried to wander, but to no avail. There just wasn't anything that was _worth_ thinking about anymore. Everything seemed so aimless… so pointless…

The Englishman stared out the window of the café, looking out at the world before him that was New York and Madison Avenue, but not really seeing it. A numb feeling overcame him—this seemed to happen more and more frequently as time went on—and he found himself just staring into blank nothingness, again trying to remember something that wouldn't allow itself to be uncovered.

Suddenly, a man dressed in all black clothing swiftly walked into the café. Arthur had been too deep in thought to notice his entrance—relatively subtle compared to last time this had happened. The man brushed the small amount of collected snow off of his shoulders and glanced around the small café, searching for the man who 'had blond hair, startling green eyes, and wears tattered clothing, much like a beggar.' There were only two people in the place that fit that description—though there were _many_ beggars indeed, since Heracles's was a refuge of sorts on days with great precipitation. Usually, Heracles would set a quota on beggars allowed in, and he also had standards of beggars that he would allow in, since he had to be able to hang on to the other, more clean and regular customers too. It was just that Sadiq came by, so practically any beggar that felt like it could venture into the café.

The man, who looked even more conspicuous with his flowing chin length wavy blond hair, scanned the room with his piercing blue gaze, and finally his eyes landed on the beggar that _wasn't_ Arthur. Approaching that man, who was currently in a half drunken stupor, the man-in-black leaned down and took off his shades in an attempt to gaze into that man's eyes. Assessment: no startling green eyes. Just green. And an ugly color at that.

Standing back up, the man-in-black walked swiftly over to Arthur, who still didn't really notice his presence, and stood beside Arthur's position against the wall. Arthur didn't look up, nor did he show any acknowledgement of the man's presence.

Impatient, the man cleared his throat, but Arthur didn't even twitch. Finally not able to wait any longer on his mission, the man-in-black leaned down and shook Arthur, who turned his way with a startled gaze. Arthur tried to squirm his way out of the stereotypical secret-agent-esque's tight grip, but before he even knew it, he found himself simply off the ground.

It took about a minute for Arthur to even realize that he was moving, let alone battle against it. But the blond man's grip was too strong, and Arthur was a little too malnourished to do much about it anyways. Arthur found himself being dragged down the road once again by a black clad mystery man. His mind was far too clouded to even connect it with Ivan until they rounded the corner and came into view of the car. The moment Arthur saw that trademark black Porsche with the extremely well hidden Soviet symbol scratched onto it, something clicked in Arthur's mind and made him realize that this all had something to do with Ivan.

Now knowing the stakes, Arthur further sobered and tried to worm his way away from the man in black. His attempts, once again, were in vain. He found himself being placed surprisingly gently into the backseat of the car, his hands then cuffed together behind his back.

"Be still, mon cher, and it will hurt less."

That was the last thing he heard before a napkin of what he later deduced to be chloroform was pressed over his mouth. Arthur was knocked unconscious as the mysterious man in black drove off to do the rest of his job. The last thought that Arthur had was how ironic it was that he had been sitting in that same exact spot in nearly the same exact position when he had been last kidnapped by Ivan…

* * *

Alfred sat in complete silence as they rode to Feliciano's restaurant. The ride there wasn't awkward; it was more just really, really heavy. Ivan's satisfied expression was making it extremely hard for the lawyer to not just punch the Russian then and there. Ivan had already won. Did he need to rub it in too? But what made it more frustrating was that he was doing it subtly. _So fucking psychological!_

Peter, who was sitting in the passenger seat, could certainly feel the immense weight of the atmosphere. The air felt thick, pushing in on him from all directions. Even if he couldn't see the two sitting behind him, he could almost feel Ivan's satisfied expression, and Alfred's extreme sense of defeat. God he hoped that they got there soon, otherwise the atmosphere could probably choke him.

They all sat in silence—no doubt making Ivan's chauffeur quite uncomfortable, but he had learned long ago not to ask questions—no one looking anywhere else but out the window. Well, except Ivan; he was just staring into blank space with incredible intensity in his special creepy way—and _no one_ wanted to look at that.

The relief felt by everyone—but Ivan—when they arrived was strong enough that it probably could have been measured. Alfred got out of the car as quickly as possible while still maintaining a professional semblance. He made sure to not even look in Peter's direction. As a lawyer, and as a person who knew Ivan's evil qualities quite well, Alfred knew that even the slightest glance could count as 'contact,' and in no way did he want to void the deal. He knew, grimly, that it was the best possible outcome of this situation. Better than he had expected coming into it, actually.

Ivan had gotten out of the car quite slowly, _gracefully_ even. He drifted over to the passenger door to open it for Peter, but found that the boy was already on his feet and walking off to stand near Alfred on the other side. Ivan chuckled under his breath. If Peter spoke to Alfred, or even made the slightest utterance to the lawyer, Ivan could call the whole deal off and revel in Alfred's increased misery. Oh the joy that would come from that!

But to Ivan's surprise, Peter simply stood by Alfred, not touching the man, not speaking to the man, not even looking at the man. Alfred did the same. They actually looked quite comical, standing laconically next to each other like that right in the middle of the sidewalk, facing Feliciano's.

The chauffeur drove off with relief, glad that his job stopped right at the car door. He didn't need to accompany them in—he was _glad_ for that.

As the car pulled off of the curb, Alfred decided to walk inside Feliciano's, not wanting to wait for Ivan to take the lead in. It would bug him beyond anything if he waited for Ivan, since that would give Ivan the upper hand again. It was a small thing to anyone else, but Alfred and Ivan both knew that there was still a deep power battle going on. Well, not a power battle, but Alfred was trying to save as much face as possible.

Getting a table for three, Alfred sat himself down across from Peter, careful not to make any eye contact. It struck the lawyer as odd that the boy was also trying not to do the same. Usually Peter was the one who was filled with these significant glances at people—that, Alfred knew from experience. Peter could convey so many things through his eyes when he was being serious. And yet, Peter was just looking out the window almost disinterestedly, eyes still rimmed with red. Alfred was thankful for Peter having made avoidance of any eye contact and interaction easier, but it also irked Alfred and worried him as to whether or not he had done some evil toward Peter in the past couple hours.

Ivan soon walked in with that belittling smile that let Alfred know that the Russian knew about the power play that was happening, and that he was well aware of Alfred's move in entering the restaurant first. Alfred swallowed inwardly, knowing that the Russian would somehow fight back soon. He wasn't really looking forward to that.

Ivan sat down next to Peter, a bit too close for both the tastes of Peter and Alfred, but there really was no negotiation on that matter. Alfred was already broke of negotiation points anyways. Now all he could do was just make sure that everything was legal…

Of course, the Russian took his time, asking for a menu then sitting there and looking it over, pretending to be wishy-washy about what he was going to eat. Alfred knew better. They had been in this restaurant plenty of times before, and Ivan almost _never_ ate. It was always just vodka.

But Alfred tried his best to remain calm. He knew that Ivan was trying to get under his skin, and he wasn't going to give Ivan further satisfaction. God this was a difficult power play going on.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of silence with Alfred staring intensely at his hands resting clasped on the table, and Peter staring off still pretty disinterestedly out the window, Ivan finally ordered something and gave the girl his menu. Alfred fought the urge to gag as Ivan winked at the waitress, who blushed. Ivan wasn't incredible with his looks, but he was certainly nicer looking than most. Of course, he looked downright ugly to those who knew about his heart and inner twisted soul…

Ivan leaned in and, after beaming his sly smile—_that BASTARD_—at everyone present at the table, murmured, "So Alfred… You wish to discuss legality and consequences, da?"

Alfred really wished that he could close his eyes and breathe at the moment, but that was sort of a show of defeat in itself. Alfred settled for the best he could do, which was sigh and lean in himself, trying to get himself into his lawyer mode in which he was fearless of nothing and confident for sure that he was going to win.

"I want to discuss consequences first, since I feel that that will be more… relevant."

Ivan smirked, catching the implications of Alfred's words. Alfred was always fun to be around for the Russian, since Alfred was a particularly good lawyer, especially for his age, and that was why the word play that went back and forth between them always turned pretty sophisticated by the end of the conversation. This was just the beginning. _Perhaps… I'll keep him after Arthur's in England, da? Eight years…_ Alfred felt a little chill trickle down his spine, though he didn't know why he had that feeling all of a sudden.

"Sure, sure. _Perfectly_ understandable."—Alfred had always found it frustrating that Ivan had always taken everything so calmly and lightly, but then again, Alfred fed off of that and in return treated Ivan's cold but well disguised words in an equivalent fashion—"So the legal consequences, as you know…" And the conversation just took off from there. They were talking through a bunch of legal ideas, while throwing in jabs at each other constantly through it all, though of course all those comments were disguised behind bright businessmen smiles and friendly laughter.

Peter risked a glance at both Ivan and Alfred for a second, and was surprised at what he saw. Sure, he had been listening, but some of the caustic remarks thrown between Ivan and Alfred were often too well disguised and too complicated for Peter to understand. What he saw though, were just two good old business partners laughing over a cup of coffee and what Peter suspected to be a large glass of vodka disguised as water. _With ice…? God Ivan is weird…_

Peter didn't know how those two could act so genially on the outside, putting up the perfect front that this was just a nice business meeting between two old business partners. No one would have guessed that they were discussing Alfred's torture of eight years from Arthur and the hostage situation of this poor little boy over here. Peter had to admit, seeing those two together sort of made things a little scary. They were so good at hiding their deeper meanings. Peter couldn't help but also be in a little awe—for Alfred, at least, _definitely_ not Ivan.

Peter turned back to the window, staring as disinterestedly as possible, still listening to the conversation, just in case there was something else that he'd have to pick up and tell Arthur later on. But he didn't want to make it seem like he was paying attention, for obvious reasons. Ivan had the eyes of a hawk and the heart of a devil—actually, that would be a bit too mean to the devil, Peter thought.

Eventually, Peter decided to feign sleep. That would be so much easier than trying to stare out at the passing cars, pretending to lose himself without really losing himself. And plus, now he could make various expressions in reaction to what was being said and pass it off as a scary nightmare or a good dream.

The day went on like that for a while, Peter feigning sleep, Alfred smiling prettily at Ivan while cursing him inwardly—and outwardly as disguised remarks—and Ivan returning those bitter but cleverly hidden remarks with ingenious ones of his own. If there was nothing else that Peter learned from this conversation, he learned about how to be a very good speaker and orator. These two were playing around with words in more ways than Peter had ever even thought was possible.

But eventually, even Peter surprised himself by falling asleep. After all, he had had quite a tiresome time so far, ever since he was handed over to Ivan—and therefore handed over to Kiku in the process. Peter didn't want to drift off, and he was battling against it for a while, but eventually, sleep captured him and Peter went off to the land of dreams, leaving behind the fake conversation at Feliciano's…

* * *

Arthur found himself tossed into the same room that he had had been in before, filled with those women that Ivan seemed to keep around only for the purposes of dressing up random strangers to prepare them for court cases or mysterious kidnappings. It was a wonder that these women never asked questions—Arthur knew, since anyone that questioned Ivan would be not only fired, but most likely killed, and all of these women were the same ones that he had seen upon his last visit into the Vault. None of them had been killed off. And a quick shot to the heart or break of the neck was Ivan's _nice_ side. Arthur shuddered. During his time spent in the marriage, he had never been exposed to any of that. He had only heard stories from others after the divorce.

Anyways, Arthur was quickly cleaned up, shampooed, soaped, and generally transformed into a nice looking man. Clean shaven again, and his hair was actually tame. He now wore simple clothing, though Ivan was considerate enough to make sure that they were of his style—therefore no khaki or polo shirts. That was probably Ivan's only consideration though.

Throughout all of this, Arthur didn't ask any questions—simply because he knew that there'd be no use; he'd only be wasting his breath. These women knew nothing, and even if they did, they wouldn't tell Ivan if they valued their life. Actually, even if they didn't value their life, they still wouldn't tell Ivan. Ivan _always_ knew people's fears, and he could easily with a snap of his fingers torture people. _Ugh… Why the fuck did I ever love him?_

Arthur was overcome temporarily with extreme disgust at his younger self. So naïve, so utterly _stupid_. And he had actually _missed_ Ivan too. Arthur was cleaned up and sobered up enough to remember more and think more than just about his aimless search for something that he couldn't name. Now he could actually make sense in his thoughts and words.

Arthur's mind went back to that day in which he found himself on a bench, staring up at the sky. He remembered the lines of his thoughts. He had been thinking about it and actually reminiscing. _Reminiscing_. He had been sad then, and that wasn't actually that long ago. About four or five months ago, he had missed the relationship he had had with Ivan. He had never believed those stories about Ivan Braginski—_his_ Ivan Braginski. But now he believed. And not only did he believe, he _experienced_. And because of that, he was utterly disgusted. How in the world had he _ever_ loved Ivan?

Arthur shuddered, not wanting to think about it any further. That was in the past by about three months, and that was enough time to start forgetting about it. He knew better now. And because he knew better, perhaps he could start feeling better about his ignorant past. Still terribly disgusted, but perhaps he could forgive himself a little for his younger mistakes. Forgive himself for attaching himself so strongly to Ivan. Forgive himself for always seeming like such an appealing _victim_ to the Russian. Forgive himself for making the connection that would later get Peter kidnapped. Yeah fucking right.

Dismissing the grim thought, for he didn't really want to bring himself to a pitiful puddle of self-disgust yet, Arthur tried to figure out more about his destination from the driver.

Arthur found himself in the same car, driven by the same man who had taken him from Madison Ave. The man definitely didn't seem like Ivan's chauffeur. He was talking far too much to be someone who was in Ivan's employ.

"Mon cher, why the expression?"

Ah. So the driver had looked in the rearview and seen that disgust that had been evident on Arthur's expression just a few moments ago. The last vestiges of the feeling was still somewhat evident.

Arthur glanced up at the rearview, not sure whether the blond was looking at him or not through those damned sunglasses. His eyes narrowed in slight suspicion, but hey, if the driver would talk, then perhaps he could use this to his advantage.

"Nothing. Tell me, where are you taking me?"

The driver chuckled a low rumble, shaking his head. "Why should I tell you?" he asked, adding a little French accent twist to it.

"Because I have a right to know."

The driver didn't reply. He just kept driving, a small smile now tugging at the corner of his lips. He was enjoying the straightforward nature of his passenger. Rarely did he get people who weren't either bawling or offering him all the money in the world to be free. They never learned that it wasn't money that he wanted; it was just the thrill of his job.

Arthur figured that the driver wasn't going to say anything in reply. A little impatient—not to mention frustrated at that annoying little amused expression on the driver's face—Arthur settled on a different approach.

"Who are you, then? You obviously don't seem to be under Ivan's employ."

That small, amused smile grew to a small smirk. The driver was obviously trying not to laugh. Arthur's caterpillar eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but he said nothing else, hoping that the driver's tendency to speak when unneeded would come into play here, and that the driver would reply.

Eventually, the driver let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. With a smile, he replied, "Are you sure you want to know?" There was more behind that question than Arthur wanted to know. But yes, he really did want to know. By remaining completely silent, yet staring pretty hard and pointedly at the rearview mirror, Arthur answered the driver's question.

"Well then," the driver chuckled. "To put matters simply, I am a freelance assassin."

Arthur almost choked. That was the least expected reply that he could have received. Come on, a freelance assassin? That was like a movie character. There were no _real _freelance assassins… right? Arthur could barely believe what he had just heard. And the driver had said it with such nonchalance that Arthur found himself even more doubtful. But what good would it do for the driver to be messing with him? Perhaps to fill up a boring chauffeur's day with ridiculous antics? But Arthur could have sworn that this driver wasn't tied to Ivan like an employee would be… And of course, with Ivan, an assassin would actually make sense…

The driver chuckled once again—Arthur was starting to find that sound quite belittling and annoying—watching his charge through the rearview. That startled but suspicious expression was so utterly amusing.

Arthur, on the other hand, didn't find it amusing. And he found that it was even less amusing that he was actually starting to believe this driver. He couldn't really explain it, but there really was a certain dangerous air about this driver underneath his light hearted front. Arthur could feel it vibrating around the car—not to mention that there was this lump in the foot area of the passenger seat that Arthur was starting to suspect was a bazooka or something…

Finally, after a long silence in which Arthur just pondered the matter and the driver tried his hardest not to laugh, Arthur replied, "And might I ask why Ivan sent an assassin to pick me up?" He had a surprisingly calm tone, considering his present situation. Oh, _that_ only amused the driver more. He hated people who begged for their life, after all.

"He paid me, mon cher. His money talked to me." The driver explained it almost as if it was the most simple thing in the world to be a freelance assassin—the answer should have been _obvious_ to Arthur. Of course.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Okay, this was getting nowhere. He was in the car with an odd assassin who looked like a secret agent man-in-black sort of person, who also had a heavy French accent. Though he knew all of that, he still knew _nothing_. Where was he going? What was he doing? And most of all—though he really didn't want to even start pondering it—what had happened to Peter? Somewhere deep down, Arthur knew that Peter would have something to do with this, and he was afraid to find out just what. The Englishman had regained enough of himself and had sobered up quite enough to worry a large amount.

Pushing aside the thought about Peter, Arthur calmed himself. There would be no use to start questioning this driv—_assassin_, Arthur reminded himself—about deeper matters, since he seemed to be a somewhat concise person when it came to serious matters. Of course, the driver was pretty talkative to totally unrelated matters, such as hot women and wine. Arthur could care less about that.

The driver, right on cue, chuckled and launched suddenly into a talk about that sexy lady that they had just driven past. Arthur tuned him out, politely nodding and murmuring positive urgings when necessary, though not at all listening to his words. Since it was now evident that the driver was going to give nothing further about his mysterious identity, nor about where they were going, nor about what was happening to Peter—basically, nothing about anything actually _important_, Arthur resolved that he would just find out things for himself.

Looking out the window, Arthur started to realize that he knew where he was. He had been here only once before in his life, and that had been when Ivan had invited him to 'work' while they had been together—Arthur shuddered at the thought about them having been ever together; he couldn't even think about it now; he had been a bumbling _idiot_ as a nineteen-year-old—far too desperate or something like that. Sure. Yeah. _That_ was it.

But anyways, Arthur figured out where he was—and where he was going—pretty quickly. There was only one choice possible, since there really was nothing else important in this part of New York that would have anything to do with Ivan or his plans. Arthur knew that he was headed straight for the Russian's 'office'—the one that he kept around to keep a semblance of a normal life, the one he kept around to fool stupid, stupid people like Arthur.

Arthur was headed to Ivan's office, and he had absolutely no idea why… Though he was pretty sure that he'd dislike the reason if it had to do with Ivan.

Arthur glanced up to the rearview mirror at the driver, whose gaze's direction was once again hidden by those ever reflective sunglasses. That smile on the driver's lips suggested that the driver had been watching his charge, though. And that smile definitely told Arthur that he wouldn't find out the reason for his destination from his driver either. Assassins never did anything for free, after all.

* * *

Peter found himself shaken awake gently. In his sleep, he had somewhat forgotten where he was, and what situation he was currently in, and reached out to the hand, grasping it. "Arthur…?"

There was a soft chuckle. A _cold_ chuckle. An absolutely _creepy_ chuckle. Peter's eyes snapped open. That definitely wasn't Arthur. That conviction was proved true by the violet eyes that amusedly observed Peter as Peter woke up.

Peter immediately let go of the Russian's hand, blushing slightly with embarrassment and a little indignation. He quickly glanced around him, assessing his situation, ready to be back in Kiku's clutches, even if that was the least of what he wanted. It was the most realistic possibility though.

Much to his surprise, however, Peter found himself lying down on a couch—one of those couches that were reminiscent of a therapist's office. Perhaps a 'chaise lounge' was the term for it—Peter didn't know, and right now, in this situation, he really didn't care either. There were much more important things to be paying attention to.

Peter glanced around him, trying to take in his surroundings, despite his recent surprise at having mistaken the Russian for his own brother. Peter winced inwardly. Arthur should _never_ know about that. Peter would never live that down, and he already felt terrible enough as it was.

He seemed to be in a half office of sorts. There was indeed a desk—one to which the Russian was now walking, that damned sly mirthful expression still evident on his face—and there was also a nice plant in the corner that added great décor to the general ambiance. There were two chairs stationed at the front of the desk in the prime areas for discussion, and there was even a homey little painting set up on the side next to a cabinet. It really did seem like a person's normal office, save the alcohol cabinet in the corner and the random red chaise lounge on the side, on which Peter found himself. The off white walls seemed far too harmless for the Russian mafia leader. Peter was absolutely sure that whoever else occupied this building didn't know about Ivan's true job. Otherwise they'd either be dead or under his control. Or maybe they were dead. That was highly possible…

Peter's eyes settled on a dignified figure in the corner, who was sitting stiff backed, shoulders thrown backwards, eyes staring indignantly right at the Russian. That characteristic random tuft of dirty blond hair that stuck up out of his otherwise tame head told Peter immediately that it was Alfred—not that he wouldn't have recognized any other part of Alfred's characteristics.

Alfred was just sitting in the corner, in what seemed like a very comfortable chair to lean back in. Alfred avoided the back of the chair almost as if it was scalding hot and that he didn't want to be anywhere near it. He was practically sitting off of the chair. Despite the situation, Peter almost giggled softly at the sight. The lawyer looked so absolutely defiant despite his situation and despite the current location in which they were. By now, Peter had summarized that this was Ivan's office of some sorts. He held a certain command over it… And there was a great hint by the subtle communist colors of the general décor, not to mention vodka of every kind found within that cabinet across from the chaise. If all of that didn't scream Ivan, then Peter wasn't sure what would. Well, he figured that a couple of severed head and a collection of water pipes proudly displayed in a corner would add well to the ambiance, but perhaps that was just a bit too much for every day people do deal with.

Peter looked immediately away from the man sitting in the corner, remembering that Alfred couldn't have any contact with either Peter or Arthur for eight years. It wouldn't do him well to break it now, when it would be already hard enough for the lawyer.

The silence in the room was once again deafening. Peter decided to ignore it and lay back down on the chaise. Might as well be comfortable in hell, right? As he lay there, he let his thoughts wander. And though wander they did, they kept coming back to one subject: Alfred.

The boy felt such a strong obligation to Alfred that at first, he was surprised himself. Alfred had, after all, risked his own life to go into Kiku's home and retrieve Peter—not to mention the incredible sum of money that was involved within the transaction. Peter couldn't even remember the amount now, but he remembered how the suitcase looked. Yeah, that was _a lot_. Definitely.

But anyways, Alfred had gone in there with no real obligation himself and had saved Peter from a miserable fate that was becoming worse and worse every second. Peter stopped for a moment to consider Alfred's motivations. After a moment, Peter concluded with a small inward smile that Alfred was definitely in love. There was no other explanation for it. Sure, he had touched on the idea a little while he had been crying in the car, but there had been no clear thought process to back that up just yet. But now he had the perfect reasoning… and now he also had the heaviest heart.

A strong wave of sympathy for the lawyer crashed over him. Pity too. Alfred had risked his life and happiness for Arthur, and yet, he wasn't going to be recognized for it. He couldn't say anything about it for eight years. _Eight bloody years._ That was just utterly depressing! And to top it all off, Ivan had it out for the lawyer. Defiance made Ivan happy, and Ivan's happiness was _not_ a good thing. Also, Peter admitted to himself, though rather reluctantly, that his brother sort of despised Alfred too. To Arthur, Alfred was the stupid person who had brought all of this on.

Peter winced once again. God Alfred was having it tough… But there wasn't much that Peter could do. Peter was on the lawyer's side through all of this, but no one else was. If nothing else, Peter would make sure that Arthur found out the truth somehow. He may be only fourteen, but he would definitely let his mind and view be known.

Of course, actually being _listened_ to would be a whole other matter…

* * *

Arthur found himself standing at the base of a skyscraper of business offices. This was one of those places that rented offices—hence, there were a multitude of businesses floating around within the building. This skyscraper wasn't that of a specific company, then, and therefore was just named the Garden Offices._ Wow. These people have _great_ imagination…_

The mysterious Frenchie was right next to Arthur as Arthur started up the steps. The assassin did nothing to prevent Arthur's actions, but was hovering over Arthur quite closely, making any form of escape possible. Arthur didn't particularly want to escape anyways, but the man-in-black driver didn't know that. He did his job well. _Of course. He's got Ivan's trust_ _to bring me here_.

Arthur sighed, not at all surprised that he was waved in past security immediately and brought to the elevator. He knew where to go, even though the Frenchie pointed it out anyways. He had definitely been here before, but long ago, back when days had been better—actually, possibly back when days had been worse. He had been an utterly clodhopping, foolish idiot back then. He was much better off now _without_ Ivan.

Arthur got off on the 20th floor, knowing far too well where he was supposed to be going. He wasn't at all proud of that fact. Heading down the left side of the hallway, the Brit knew that the room for which he was looking would be right at the end—sort of like the 'head of the table,' _of course_. Room twelve.

If the Frenchie was surprised when Arthur immediately veered off in the right direction, he didn't show it. The mysterious assassin-for-hire—_what was the word? Mercenary? No… Whatever_—just kept pace behind Arthur, trying to fill the hall that Arthur left behind with his presence. That way, perhaps he could intimidate the Brit enough that there would be no attempt at escaping. Arthur rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

When they neared the door, Arthur felt like he had been edging down that hall for an eternity—then some. The door seemed to loom before him, ever present in his mind just like the figure that he knew would be behind that door. And throughout all of this, Arthur couldn't help but worry: _Is Peter okay? What has that sly bastard done now? Why does he need _me_ here? To gloat more or something? Gloat about Peter, perhaps? Ugh… God I hope he's okay. I hope Alfr—Wait. What? NO. _Arthur shied away from the thought of the lawyer, a little perturbed that he could still be worrying over Alfred considering all that Alfred had ever done to him. _I'm just a little crazy right now, that's all_…

When Arthur stopped at the door to contemplate entering, Frenchie did too. The assassin said nothing, standing there with his wavy blond hair swishing around by some wind coming from some vent somewhere. They stood there in silence. Nothing could be heard from the other side.

At last, Arthur brought himself the courage—more like the sheer will to make sure that nothing was wrong with Peter—to open the door. Slowly, as if in some action movie in which this was The Moment, Arthur brought his hand up to rest on the doorknob. From behind, he heard that oh so annoying chuckle from the French assassin but chose to ignore it. His nerves didn't need to be further ruffled.

Gathering up his wits about him, the Englishman took a deep breath and opened the door calmly. He tried to make himself as stately as possible as he started to enter the room.

The Englishman froze midway through his first step inside. Sure, he had mentally prepared himself, but nothing—absolutely _nothing_—could have prepared him for what he saw within. And goddamn there was some part of him that wished that he had _never_ opened that door. That was definitely something that he never wanted to see, never needed to see, and probably never would want to see. But it was too late.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

Hey~

Guys, I'm sorry that I haven't updated this story in a while. I've been really busy, and a lot of things have happened since the last chapter. Well, a lot of things have happened to me, at least, among them being the fact that I have indeed acquired a… boyfriend. x/x

Anyways… This chapter is the one right next to the climax where there is a lot of angst and all of that, so I promise that the next one will be good if you guys didn't like this one. =]

I know it's sort of short, but I wanted the climax chapter to stand alone, you know? The next chapter is when things _really_ happen. I won't say any more…. =D

Oh, and I bet you guys didn't expect for Francis to come back as an assassin. Well, you know that last time we saw him, he was the defendant for a case. What you guys _didn't _know was that the reason that he had been in that case in the first place was because it was part of his cover. His frontal identity at a bumbling idiot who can't seduce women if they come on to him. xD So he was just keeping with his agent coverup at the time, and was doing so quite well—so well that someone sued him for being his character. =P (By the way,

As for the prizes, yes, I've been working on them. But I've been busy! D=  
I'm still working on that drawing, and then I'll start on that fic, and then I'll do all the rest. Just give me some time. I haven't forgotten. School's about to end soon, and I'll have it to you by then at the latest. So please forgive me? =3

And really, thank you so much for sticking with me so far. There have been many moments, both good and bad, throughout this story, and I appreciate it—and I'm sure Arthur, Alfred, Peter, and the rest do too—that you've stuck with me thus far. The road is nearing its end, and I'm sad for it. But I'll save my tearful goodbye for the last chapter (and I'm not telling you which it is or how many more chapters we have until we get there~). But really, your comments, feedback, or even the fact that you've read this at all, even if you don't review—they all make my day. Every time I get something, whether it be a notice that someone has thought highly enough to put this on their Story Alert, or whether it's a well cherished review, I feel so much better. So really, I can't say it enough, thank you, thank you, thank you.

- Galythia

P.S. This isn't a question for a prize, so perhaps you guys will feel less compelled to answer it, but here's another trivia thing. I just love hearing your answers.=]  
This one is about this fic specifically.

Do you guys notice anything special about Ivan's office? Can you tell me the significance or perhaps the symbolism of it, especially for one of our dear protagonists—Arthur? Maybe a movie or a prediction about a certain calendar or something...? =P (God I sound like an English class prompt. xD)

In addition, I'm just curious, but does anyone have a prediction of what could be going on within Ivan's office that would possibly scar Arthur for life? xD

Have fun answering! I'm sorry that it's not for a prize… I'm just way too busy. But! If you get it right, you'll at least be recognized next chapter. Everyone who gets it right. All of you. =3

Until next time~


	23. Chapter 22

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 22

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur:** Oh. My. God. My eyes are officially burned.

**Peter: **Tell me about it...

**Francis:** I don't know what you two are on about. _I_, for one, am enjoying this chapter quite a bit.

**Arthur: **Of course you would, you bastard whose every move has sexual intentions behind it!

**Francis: **Arthur! Mon cher, I am offended!

**Arthur: **Don't you "mon cher" me, you frog!

**Ivan:** Guys... guys... break this up...

**Arthur: **Don't _you_ enter this either. I may hate Alfred, and some weird part of me might even lov—like him a little, but this is just too much. _Too much_.

**Alfred:** For once, I agree with Arthur. My nipples are _still_ hurting! I mean, I know we role play this story out in Galythia's mind for her own viewing pleasure, but, Galytha, take pity on me! Through this whole chapter, don't you realize that I don't get release even once? Not even _once_?

**Galythia:** *eye sparkles* Fu fu fu fu fu~ It's all part of my master plan! Plus, don't tell me that some part of you doesn't like being dominated by Ivan...

**Alfred: **No. NO PART of me wants to be dominated by Ivan. If anything, I want to _dominate_ Arthu—shit.

**Arthur: **WHAT?

**Alfred: **I've said too much... *runs*

**Francis: **Ahhh... This can only get better...

* * *

Alfred stared long and hard at the Russian behind the desk, making sure that his defiance would be known and noted. Ivan, however, made it a point to smirk occasionally at the lawyer, though otherwise disregarding Alfred's pointed determination. All that was left to do was wait until Francis arrived with Arthur in tow.

Of course, Ivan was never one to sit around and do nothing in his spare time, especially when in the same room with two very interesting characters… and the power of blackmail… The sheer thought of it made Ivan chuckle darkly. Situations really don't ever get more fun than this… _Let's use this to my advantage, da?_

The Russian turned around slowly to face the lawyer, his eyes locking with those of Alfred. The small smirk that he had been evident on his face slowly grew into a much bigger, far more maniacal grin. Alfred tried not to be put off by the expression, but he couldn't help the involuntary shiver that ran down his spine. Alfred knew Ivan well enough by now to know that the Russian was planning something—something that would most likely be at Alfred's expense, if not Peter's as well.

"Alfred… Why don't you do me a wonderful favor and come over here for a moment?" Ivan cooed, curling his finger in an alluring fashion, an extremely maniacal and somewhat suggestive expression on his face. Alfred wasn't sure whether or not he should be scared for his life at the moment, or scared for his virginity. It was one of _those_ kinds of expressions.

Peter sat up a little, surprised that someone had indeed broken the silence, though not at all surprised that it was Ivan. Peter quickly laid himself back down, once again closing his eyes and pretending to sleep. Perhaps something interesting would ensue and Peter could quietly witness it. Or at least hear it.

Alfred stared hard at Ivan's mischievous expression, for a second not making any move. He had already made the deal with Ivan, right? Therefore, what else could Ivan use against him as blackmail that wouldn't put this whole deal at legal stake? Was there anything else that Ivan could use against him? Something that Alfred had forgotten despite his brilliant mind as a lawyer? It was then that the lawyer remembered Ivan's words as they stood outside his home laying down the beginnings of the deal.

_"Alfred, I'm true to my word. You just have to make sure that my word has no loopholes."_

_Damn it!_ Despite the fact that Alfred was pretty confident in his abilities as a lawyer, and that therefore he would have seen through all the loopholes and made sure that the deal was flawless as agreed to so far, there was always that slight chance that he had missed something after all… meaning that if he still wasn't careful, the Russian could use that against him and somehow cause issues for Arthur and Peter. That was the last thing that Alfred wanted.

Ivan's smirk grew even wider when he saw the seed of doubt start to grow in Alfred's expression. Though the lawyer was quite good at his job, in a situation as dire as this one that involved actual emotional stakes, Alfred was incredibly lacking of a good poker face. Or maybe it was just Ivan's presence that caused such to happen. Ivan smiled even wider at that thought. If that was the case—and most likely, it was the case—Alfred was paying homage to Ivan without even knowing what he was doing.

After about a minute of contemplation and growing doubt, Alfred finally, stiffly, got up from his chair and faced Ivan straight on. Taking emphasized, slow steps, Alfred never dropped his eye contact with Ivan; that would mean losing the battle. This was one large war against Ivan, even if he was officially signed up as Ivan's lawyer. That was a technical matter, however, and as this day had shown, Alfred didn't care as much for technicalities and laws as he should have, being a lawyer. Arthur—and, of course, Peter—were far more important to Alfred than America's petty laws. How ironic.

Alfred stopped right behind the two chairs that were situated facing Ivan's desk. Ivan waited patiently for Alfred to come closer, signifying his wish by curling his finger once again in a beckoning motion. Alfred, struggling to keep the defiant flame still burning in his eyes with each step, edged closer, around the chairs, then stopped.

"What favor would you like, Mr. Braginski?" Alfred asked in a steely tone with very minor polite inflections. The only reason Alfred's voice wasn't all out steely was because of his attempt at keeping the semblance of calm and politeness due to Peter's presence. Little did the lawyer know that the boy was really far smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for.

Ivan chuckled softly and stood up, walking to the vodka shelf in the corner and pouring himself a glass. Taking his sweet time with this would only prove his power hold even further, since Alfred would probably not dare move from that spot until something was said. _Smart as a lawyer should be_, Ivan acknowledged. Such a pity that Alfred had to be involved in this situation and have so many complications with the opposing side… Well, not really. It was far more enjoyable this way anyways.

"Would you like one?" Ivan asked, signaling to the bottle of vodka in his hand. Alfred only stared hard at the Russian, then figured that in order to keep a semblance of politeness, he'd actually have to reply.

"No. Thank you," Alfred almost spat. He could see what Ivan was doing. Being calm and doing things at his own tempo showed just how much power Ivan had at the moment. Alfred calmed his inner fire a little too, just so that he wouldn't appear childish and immature next to this Russian bastard.

"You don't know what you're missing," Ivan replied, but smiled and sat back down in his chair. "Why the distance?" he asked, referring to the table in between himself and the lawyer. "We're friends now, aren't we? I mean, we have been working together for over a month now, Alfred…"

Alfred maintained a stoic expression as his eyes attempted to bore into Ivan's. However, the Russian's calm and slightly mirthful gaze and expression threw Alfred off after a while, and his determination faltered just a smidge.

Exhaling a small, barely noticeable sigh, Alfred slowly made his way around the table, coming right up to Ivan, even taking the slight gall to lean against the side of the desk ever so slightly. Not feeling quite ambitious enough to cross his arms or relax any further, Alfred just eyed the Russian with suspicion, hiding it beneath a seemingly stolid expression.

"Now Alfred…" Ivan cooed as he took sips of his vodka, as if it was a cup of tea. "I know what has been running through your head."

Alfred's expression didn't change whatsoever at this news, since the fact that the Russian was probably an actual legitimate mind reader wouldn't come at all as a surprise if it turned out in the end that that was actually cold fact. However, he wasn't going to give Ivan the satisfaction of being confirmed. Therefore, the lawyer did what lawyers did best when under the spotlight—he said nothing more than necessary—i.e. nothing.

Ivan only chuckled and continued sipping his vodka. "What loopholes have you missed? What have you not accounted for that would secure your vision of security for dear Arthur and little Peter over there?"

Alfred clenched his teeth. This was another technique that showed power. By musing out loud those questions and doubts that Alfred had with such conviction, Ivan was showing a very stable confidence that Alfred couldn't help but admire a little, despite their current predicament. After all, lawyers needed to have strong conviction in the words that come out of their mouths while in court, otherwise they would likely present a very weak case. Therefore, when someone had confidence in his every action and confidence in his every word, Alfred couldn't help but admire that person—even if that person was Ivan Braginski.

Ivan felt a strong amount of satisfaction seeing that simple action of Alfred clenching his teeth. He felt so utterly giddy knowing that he could get under people's skin so well by just dropping a few words here and there. _You still have it in you_, Ivan praised himself with a generous sip of his vodka.

"Well, Alfred, I'm feeling quite beneficial at the moment, much like I've been this whole day, actually." _Beneficial my ass_, thought Alfred darkly, though he said nothing. He was far too interested and a little fearful of what Ivan was going to say next. This could be some important information, but it also had an equal chance of being the Russian's useless evil toying words that were meant to taunt at Alfred's confidence and demean him further. Alfred wouldn't know until he heard the words, but he sure was not going to interrupt something so possibly important.

"I will tell you right now that there _is _something that you've missed," Ivan continued. He paused a bit to let the message sink in, anticipating Alfred's reaction. And Ivan wasn't disappointed.

Alfred couldn't help the small sharp intake of breath that came to him when he heard those words. Alfred didn't want to believe it, but he knew that there was that really strong possibly that what Ivan said was indeed true, even though the Russian seemed mighty suspicious. Then again, Ivan always seemed as such…

The lawyer quickly recovered, however, and attempted an offhanded reply. After all, it would do him no better to further inflate the Russian's ego by allowing him further satisfaction at knowing that he had managed to get to Alfred.

"No," Alfred replied with a voice that was far more even and calm than he even would have expected himself. "I think you're just messing with me." The statement was accompanied with a polite smile, almost as if they were talking about something totally trivial.

Ivan chuckled, finished his glass of vodka, and set it down. "Really?" he mused, raising one eyebrow, highly amused. "Well, Alfred… Here's something for you to think about… Peter… _and_ Arthur… are both at stake here. Their happiness… and their _safety_. Now would you be so utterly selfish as to let pride get in the way of ensuring all that for them…? You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if one of them… say… ended up… traumatized or… _damaged_… through your negligence, da?"

Alfred wanted to just close his eyes and take a good long rub at his temples. All of this utter mind fucking was giving him a pretty bad headache. Not to mention that the fact that another man could have such a hold over him and blackmail him so thoroughly caused Alfred's pride some major damage. Needless to say, the lawyer wasn't feeling his best at the moment.

Alfred's mind ran over Ivan's words. _He's just toying with you. He _has_ to just be toying with you… right…?_ As long as there was that seed of doubt in Alfred's mind, he would never be able to rest unless he made sure that there really was nothing missed.

"All right," Alfred conceded, after another moment's thought. "What is this that I've 'missed' exactly?" He tried to make the question sound nonchalant, though he knew that Ivan saw right through it. Alfred was starting to sweat quite profusely, nervous that he actually had indeed missed something, and therefore was still failing at ensuring the safety and happiness of his… true love and his true love's brother—something that he really _would_ never forgive himself for. Not to mention that his reputation with himself as a lawyer would forever be damaged if he hadn't covered everything, though that was _definitely_ not as important as Arthur and Peter. By now, Alfred was of the inclination that even if his own life was completely destroyed, as long as Arthur and Peter were given the opportunity to continue theirs in happiness, Alfred would, in the end, be happy himself. _Yeah, Arthur. I love you. That much._ At least the idea of being gay and in love with his ex-chauffeur was much less startling now than when Alfred first realized his feelings. At least _some things_ were simpler than before. _Maybe there is a god._ Then Ivan chuckled with a triumphant twinkle in his eyes, though also with a satisfied expression that signified the fact that he had expected to be triumphant all along. _ Scratch that. There is no god._

"Well Alfred," Ivan cooed, leaning in a little. Alfred resisted the urge to step back a bit. "What's in it for me if I tell you? I was already nice enough to tell you that you've forgotten something. Isn't that kindness enough?"

"_Kindness enou—_" Alfred started, Ivan's arrogant demeanor really starting to get to him. However, the lawyer bit back the harsh retort, rethinking things. Alfred clenched his fist. It wouldn't be in his best interest to throw biting words at Ivan at the moment, as much as he hated to admit that.

Alfred stood there a bit, internally calming himself down. His mind was racing, thinking through a million different things at once. What did he miss? Did he really miss something? Or was it Ivan just messing with him? If so, how could he find out? If not, what would be the best way to elicit the information from the Russian? After about five minutes of silence, in which Ivan just stared amusedly at the lawyer, Alfred found himself still drawing a blank, having gained nothing except for an even worse headache. It bothered him so that Ivan's presence could make him feel so much less professional and practiced.

"What do you want, Mr. Braginski?" Alfred asked a little exasperatedly, the fire of determination in his eyes now just an occasional flicker. He tried to make it sound nice and polite as usual, but it was difficult. As time went on today, Alfred felt more and more fatigued and defeated, and he really was having less and less tolerance for the Russian. Sure, he had managed to change the legal record and successfully save Peter. However, apparently he hadn't even succeeded on striking a flawless deal with Ivan regarding Peter and Arthur's complete safety. Not to mention that one fact that still weighed down his heart far more heavily than he could ever imagine feeling—he wouldn't be able to see them for eight years. Eight long years, after which Arthur would have probably forgotten about Alfred's existence, though after which Alfred knew for sure that he'd still be in love with his ex-chauffeur… and Arthur would never even know. Well, Alfred could go and visit England in eight years, but he wasn't sure he'd still be alive, frankly, since he had a feeling that those eight years would be spent at Ivan's expense…

"Alfred, dear, I have a question for you. What was Peter?" Alfred's eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. The question made no sense whatsoever. Was it a trick question of some sort? Some sort of test?

"Mr. Braginski, what… relevance… does that inquiry have to present subject?" Alfred asked, putting it into formal, legal language out of habit. Feeling a little bolder once again due to the fact that he had used legal language, which, oddly, made him feel a little like he was home again, the lawyer continued. "Secondly, could you please rephrase it so that I can better comprehend the direction in which you would like me to take the answer?" Alfred inwardly congratulated himself for having such nice flow in those two statements once he got into it. Legal was his thing. Ivan couldn't take that from him. Now that he had dabbled a little back in the legal language, Alfred felt just the tiniest bit better and less defeated. Most importantly, however, was the fact that he had temporarily forgot about the eight years away from Arthur and his depression. Perhaps Alfred could still salvage whatever pride he had left against Ivan, sort of like, a final stand.

Amused by Alfred's little "recovery," Ivan just smiled and leaned back in his chair, playing absentmindedly with the end of his scarf. Not looking up at the lawyer, Ivan replied, "Very well. Why was Peter so… _valuable_ to Kiku? What _was_ he?" Ivan set the end of his scarf down and added, "And the 'relevance to the subject,' as you put it, dear Alfred, will soon be uncovered. Do just answer the question."

When Alfred heard the rephrased question, his eyes widened a little; _that_ was what Ivan meant? He should have expected that it'd be something sick. Anyways, how was the lawyer supposed to even answer the question? It wasn't a subject about which he usually spoke.

The lawyer turned around and glanced at the boy lying there on the chaise lounge, seeming to be perfectly peaceful asleep. Good, since the boy needed rest, and he probably didn't need to hear what Alfred was about to say, or any of the conversation that would ensue from here. Alfred was quite sure of that.

Wanting to ride on his newly recovered strength, Alfred took a moment to steel himself against anything Ivan could throw at him, not to mention think about the words he was about to say, then looked up right at Ivan, wanting to catch the man's gaze. However, Ivan only looked up once the lawyer started speaking.

"He was a slave," Alfred replied with a voice that was hard and even, which even surprised himself. "He was a sex slave… Obviously. But we both know that. So why must you ask?" Alfred didn't want to visit this subject for just the general uncomfortable feelings that came with it, but also because there was one other thing that had been bugging him from ever since he stepped foot inside Kiku's "inner lair"—had he been too late? As in, was Peter no longer… clean? And only at the age of thirteen… If that was indeed the case, and Alfred had indeed been too late, the lawyer would never forgive himself if he ever found that out—despite the fact that it wasn't really his fault. Alfred would find a way to blame it on himself, just because he had recently gotten into the habit of blaming anything that caused the Kirklands trouble on himself—a habit that wasn't entirely unfounded or without good reason.

Ivan _tsked_ at Alfred's answer. He had to admit that the lawyer had a decent ability to stay calm under pressure, though perhaps not calm when nervous about anything related to Arthur's safety—_that _had definitely been fun to watch. However, the answer amused him greatly. "Now don't be so cynical, Alfred… I prefer to call dear little Peter a… valuable _asset_ for stress relief," Ivan explained, placing his fingertips together and leaning his elbows on the arms of his chair.

The Russian swirled his chair around to face the vodka cabinet. Pouring himself another glass of vodka, Ivan swished it around in the glass and observed it. As a side note, Alfred thought it was absurd that anyone would drink vodka in a regular glass like that, the type that people often used to drink milk and the like. _He probably had drunken it from a mug before, knowing him_… It was then that Alfred's eyes landed on the mug with the Lithuanian flag on it in the corner of the cabinet. Great. He was actually right.

"But you have successfully taken dear little Peter over there away from… _operations_, da? Yes," Ivan mused, answering his own question. "Therefore, Kiku is currently without a… pet." Ivan glanced up at the lawyer, who was trying to follow this line of thought, but was still having a difficult time connecting it to the present subject of what Ivan wanted in exchange for information, if it was even about that. Ivan smiled and turned to face the window behind his desk, looking at the buildings outside, but not really seeing anything. "With this tight economy, pets are hard to come by, dear Alfred." Alfred held back a snort. How did the economy affect those pets if they were never paid? The "business" had a marginal amount of expenses. It was incredibly lucrative. "So, Alfred… where should I go find one? Who do you think would be _willing_ to take on such a position…?" The Russian turned his head to look at Alfred as he finished his question, eyes hinting at something that Alfred just didn't quite understand.

"Why are you asking me all…" Alfred started, trailing off when Ivan's gaze combined with the slightly leading questions to finally come to an answer in Alfred's head. _Leading the witness_, he couldn't help thinking automatically, even if he wasn't a witness, and Ivan wasn't a lawyer.  
Alfred couldn't help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach to know that he had been right. Those eight years were definitely going to be spent at Alfred's expense—and by extension, Kiku's, if Alfred had caught on to the meaning behind Ivan's words correctly. "You couldn't mean…"

Ivan smiled and leaned forward a little. "Oh but I do mean, dear Alfred," the Russian murmured, coming off as part lethal part warm. _How was that even possible?_ Alfred thought.

"What sort of sick scheme is that? Why should I ever _willingly_ place myself in such a position?" Alfred retorted, slightly alarmed at the thought in the first place. He had been to Kiku's. He had seen it all laid out in front of him. He had witnessed only the surface of how Peter had been treated. He had seen some of the disgusting toys that were strewn about, not to mention the vile acts that some of the "slaves" were forced to commit due to their position as "slaves." How would _anyone_ in their right mind ever _willingly_ subjugate themselves to such demeaning treatment? Alfred sure was in his right mind, he felt, and was pretty damn sure that sexual humiliation was _not_ one of his top priorities.

Ivan reached out slowly with his hand, aiming it straight for Alfred's crotch. Instinctively, Alfred stepped back and swatted the Russian's hand away. Ivan's eyes burned for a moment, and he commandingly whispered, "Hold. Still."

Alfred blinked. That was a voice that he had never heard the Russian use before. If possible, it was actually even _more_ sadistic than any other voice that the lawyer had heard from the Russian before. Alfred hadn't thought that such was even possible. Yet, the power behind the voice worked, and involuntarily, Alfred stopped in his tracks. Ivan, however, did not reach once again for Alfred's crotch.

"It's only eight years, Alfred… Maybe I can convince Kiku to let you go after such a term of service, if you have shown your… _devotion_ to your 'duty.'" Ivan's eyes gleamed. "Then again, you might not want to go anywhere… You might enjoy it…" The Russian smirked and glanced suggestively at Alfred.

The turn of this conversation had taxed Alfred of his renewed confidence quite a bit, and the lawyer found himself stammering his reply, a light, but growing blush on his face. "Y-you… I-I… ENJOY? W-why the hell w-would I e-ever _enjoy_ such?" Alfred blushed even more at the thought of it. He had to admit that… maybe… kinky sex probably wasn't all that bad—Alfred's mind quickly flashed to a combination of Arthur, handcuffs, and something about wanting his first to be Alfred. However, he dispelled it as quickly as possible; the last thing he needed was the thought of romantic, sensual interactions with his never-to-be-love. However, adding kinky, prostitution, humiliation, and forced acts together made the thought turn horrid in Alfred's mind.

"Maybe I should _teach_ you a little about the people under Kiku's 'employ,' da? You seem to be quite uneducated about such matters…" Ivan cooed, his hand once again dangerously migrating toward Alfred's crotch. Alfred tried to move backwards ever so slowly, lacking enough speed that Ivan wouldn't notice.

"W-what if I d-don't want to l-learn, huh?" Alfred retorted, trying to sound tough and challenging, but failing. He definitely wasn't used to this subject of conversation, and needless to say, it was making him highly uncomfortable. Not to mention that that little thought of Arthur and kinky sex a moment ago was causing Alfred _another_ type of uncomfortableness in that area down below—that area to which the Russian's hand was at a dangerous proximity.

Ivan stopped his advancing hand for a moment and looked up, catching Alfred's gaze. The Russian held the American's gaze for what seemed like an eternity until suddenly, Ivan's hand shot out and roughly grabbed Alfred's crotch. The lawyer gave out a short yell, feeling Ivan's fingers digging into _highly_ sensitive areas. Alfred winced, gripping on to the edge of the table and somewhat holding his breath. He knew that if he opened his mouth, another yell would probably escape.

Ivan, on the other hand, was finding so much pleasure in Alfred's pain, and gripped Alfred's crotch even tighter.

"I shall put this in simpler terms for you, da?" Ivan asked rhetorically, his voice a mix of the usual innocent psychopath tone and the domination voice. "Dear little Alfred…" Ivan's voice lowered to a lethal whisper, his tone highly demeaning. "Are you willing to suck cock and be a good little bitch for Arthur's sake? _Willing_ to be fucked, abused, and humiliated, only to then _willingly _beg for more? If not, then… Oh, I don't know. God may feel it… _just_ to perhaps… _break _Arthur and his brother a little." It took a lot of control on Peter's part to not shudder at those thoughts as he listened.

Alfred felt his cheeks redden considerably, not to mention that he was wearing a suit, therefore the temperature felt like it was boiling. The lawyer tried not to think about the hand that was choking the blood flow to and from his balls. "Hurt" was a _very_ strong understatement for the burning heat that he felt radiating from his crotch.

_How could Ivan even pull off those words so calmly…?_ Alfred thought as he struggled to hold back another cry of pain, almost cutting into the wood of the table with his nails.

The lawyer tried to clear his head enough of the hazy pain to think about Alfred's words, but they just got him hotter as he thought about it. His mind kept jumping to Arthur, both because the question _was_ about Arthur, and because of, well… kinky sex… and Arthur… together… In the end, the lawyer found it very difficult to even formulate a vague opinion on the matter—since, after all, he was torn. A long and grueling eight years—though probably a life term unless he was able to escape and keep a low profile for the rest of his life—or the risk of Arthur hurt.

"Answer me!" Ivan ordered, the domination side of his voice taking over completely. The order was accompanied by an extra hard squeeze on Alfred's crotch. This elicited a sharp cry of pain from the lawyer, whose knees buckled. Alfred almost fell straight down to his knees, and would have if it weren't for his arm on the table that impeded his fall.

_You've… hurt him… enough, Al…_ Alfred thought, trying to clear his mind of the foggy haze enough to think through this. _This… is for Arthur… And after what… he's been through… by_ your _hand_…_ this is… the least… you can do,_ Alfred figured. He knew that he had caused Arthur great pain, and so perhaps he deserved this treatment by Ivan. If it would elicit the fact about what he had missed in the deal from Ivan, Alfred willed himself to go through with it. He loved Arthur this much—enough to devote eight years, and possibly his life, to a hellish way of living. _Guess… I won't have… the chance… to visit England… after all…_ Alfred felt his chest tighten, an odd contrast to the stinging heat that he was feeling down below. Though oddly, that highly depressing thought made Alfred's mood lighten just a little bit. Perhaps that was because it was the only realistic thing that was happening around him—the only thing that perhaps other people with _normal_ lives might think about in their lifetimes. The pain of not being able to be by the side of the one that mattered most.

The lawyer's attention was brought back to Ivan and the crotch grab by a renewed wave of pain.

"When… do I get… the information?" Alfred gasped, trying to keep his head straight and on the objective, even though his mind was falling into a haze of pain.

The Russian smirked, a little impressed that the lawyer was still on task despite all the pain that was probably shooting from his crotch. _This will be very interesting…_ Ivan already liked the idea of this American being a subservient slave to his—and Kiku's—whim. He would be hard to break, and the more stubborn ones are always far more fun.

"You'll get it once… hmm… how about when I'm satisfied with your service today? That sounds fair, _da?_" The "da" was accompanied by yet another emphasized squeeze. Alfred gasped even louder this time, and felt that his knees were about to give way underneath him. "What do you say, Alfred…?"

Alfred tried to concentrate on Ivan's words, but found it extremely difficult. Finally, he managed to recover slightly into a lull of dull pain, and forced out a mangled reply. "… Fine… Mr. Braginski… I'll play your… evil game…"

Ivan let go of Alfred's crotch suddenly and leaned back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. The man leaned over to the other end of the table and pressed a button. The red light next to the little "record" label turned off. Now that he had some form of willing consent from Alfred, it was time for the _real_ games to begin.

The Russian smirked as he observed the lawyer before him. Alfred had breathed a great sigh of relief when Ivan's hand was off of his crotch. He was still leaning heavily on the table, and his knees still felt like jelly.

"Well then, slave"—Ivan had switched names naturally, jumping right into the beginning of Alfred's humiliation with relish—"I think that it would be fun if we started now, da? After all, you need to learn how to satisfy…" The Russian's eyes scanned over the lawyer before him, whose face was red, and whose breath was ragged. Alfred was definitely a sight to behold—looking exactly like a proud man to break.

Alfred glanced sideways at Ivan, giving him as deathly a glare as he could possibly muster in his currently hazy, pained, and slightly aroused state. Nails digging into the table, Alfred let out a shallow huff and replied breathily, "Not... like I… have… a choice…"

Ivan was highly displeased with that answer. With extremely fast reflexes, Ivan reached out and took a hold of Alfred's shoulders, using them to push Alfred finally onto his knees—roughly, at that. Alfred let out a gasp as his kneecaps connected with the carpeted floor, the carpet providing no cushioning whatsoever. He wouldn't be surprised if his kneecaps were dislocated or something of the like, judging by how much pain he was in at the moment.

"_No, slave,_" Ivan breathed, right into Alfred's wincing face. "'Yes, sir,'" Ivan instructed, taking hold of the lawyer's tie, right at the collar. "Say it. _Clearly_." The Russian was smiling ever so slightly, even in his sadistic high.

Alfred clenched his teeth defiantly at his "master." Though he had agreed to this sadistic agreement in order to obtain the information on what he had missed, he didn't have to cooperate completely. Though technically Ivan had mentioned that Alfred was supposed to willingly give himself… Well, this probably passes off as some twisted form of foreplay in the Russian's mind anyways, so it was all good. Yeah, right. And the British could cook non-fatal food.

"Yes. Sir," muttered Alfred through clenched teeth, trying to stare straight and hard at the Russian, but failing with his eyes only gazing at the carpet.

Ivan didn't loosen his grip on the lawyer's collar whatsoever as he smirked maniacally. "Good. You're learning, but you should learn faster if you want to please me by the end of today…"

Alfred said nothing and knelt there, trying not to choke from the Russian's death grip, waiting for further humiliation to ensue. At least none of his clothes were off yet. He should count his blessings.

Ivan reached behind him to a drawer on the side of his desk and rummaged through it a bit before finding what he had been looking for. The hand came back out holding two things, both of which made Alfred blush extremely hard, but one of which almost made him piss his pants with fear. He had only heard of those… those… _devices_ a couple rare times in his life, and certainly did not want to try either of those out.

Ivan wasted no time at all and fastened a thick black collar around Alfred's neck—one that had rings in various places around it, along with a little tag that hung down that read "SLUT" in flowery script. Alfred felt himself tearing up a little in shame, having not backed away from Ivan when the collar was placed on him, but still feeling quite humiliated by its presence. Now, Alfred felt, he was truly a slave to the Russian's whim. Maybe if he threw away his pride and complied to the Russian's every wish, it would be over faster and Alfred would get the information. Maybe _that _should be his train of logic… However, Alfred still couldn't push aside his pride completely—it was the only thing that he had left to rely on, the only trace of man left in him. Otherwise, how could he ever bear to face Arthur again and perhaps even proclaim his love for the Brit? Only a self-respecting man of good pride and self-confidence could ever hope to do that and not get so horribly beaten down and trampled upon that he would never be the same again. And right now, Alfred was certainly not feeling like that confident man he should be.

"Looks beautiful," Ivan remarked with a slightly satisfied musing expression, like he was a connoisseur that was impressed at some lower being's piece of art. "I think that the rough leather compliments your soft…"—Ivan's hands trailed from Alfred's cheek down to the valley of his collarbones—"… smooth…"—Ivan's hand then started to undo one of Alfred's buttons—"… skin." Right at that word, however, just to tease the lawyer, Ivan sat back in his chair nonchalantly and leaned on his hand, elbow resting on the chair's armrest. As he moved back, the Russian's foot moved forward right on to Alfred's crotch, pushing down with a slight but persistent weight. Then Ivan started rubbing at Alfred's crotch in circles with his foot. The lawyer moaned involuntarily, blushing a deep scarlet when he realized what he had done. Yet, he couldn't help feel the pleasure that such gentle rubbing—especially when compared to the extreme abuse that his crotch had taken just moments before.

It was a little unnerving to believe that Ivan could possibly be so gentle when he wanted to. It was having a bad effect on the lawyer; it was making Alfred see Ivan as less of a cruel hearted monster just a little, and start to perhaps see him as a person somehow… It was then that that velvety voice hit the lawyer. Hard.

"Dear little slave… Why don't you go ahead and remove that shirt so that your master can see your delectable body…?" His voice was so gentle and cooing that Alfred found it to be such a startling contrast to what Ivan had been before. That combined with the gentle, erotic circles to make Alfred's mind explode in pleasure. He felt that he actually _wanted_ to do as the Russian said. Though the American tried to fight back and show some defiance, the pleasure, added to the train of thought that he had had just a little bit ago about Arthur and cuffs overwhelmed the lawyer. Alfred's hands flew to his shirt and started to involuntarily unbutton down the shirt. Ivan, seeing Alfred's compliance, increased his rubbing pressure ever so slightly, eliciting a soft moan from the lawyer's lips.

"Look at you, acting like such a whore… Who would believe that you're actually one of the best lawyers in New York…?" The Russian gave a cruel chuckle and indicated for Alfred to discard his shirt on the ground. The lawyer did so, still battling against himself within, even though his actions had been dictated by the need for increased pleasure. However, eventually, the self-righteous side lost, and the irrational, pleasure driven side won over. Alfred was simply too exhausted, first of all, to continue arguing with himself—and with Ivan. Second of all, the lawyer figured that this _would_ indeed be the fastest way to the information he wanted, and thirdly, a sick and twisted part of Alfred craved for more pleasure from Ivan, and he figured that the only way that would happen was to please the Russian. Those three reasons combined to soften Alfred's defense, and make him a willing subject to Ivan's sadistic demands. This was where the real fun would begin…

Peter, on the other hand, was extremely alarmed at what was transpiring within that office. How could the two of them forget that there was a boy in the room that was listening in to all of this? _Oh, wait… They think I'm asleep…_ Still, that thought didn't quell Peter's alarm and worry at all. In fact, the boy feared very much for Alfred and his safety. He knew that Alfred was involved in this sadistic game, and all for a good cause, but things were getting a bit too hot in here for comfort… Nevertheless, Peter knew that if he interrupted now, he would run the high risk of ruining all of Alfred's sacrifice at getting that information that the lawyer had possibly missed. Therefore, the boy remained silent and continued his charade of being asleep, however difficult it may be. However, he kept listening to the sadistic sexual acts that were being performed just right by his chair. And the boy had thought that this office had been uncomfortable before… Well, things just got a lot more interesting, that's for sure… Peter tried his best not to show any sign of animation as he lay there, trying not to fall into a pit of disgust at the proceedings around him.

Ivan picked up the chain that had made Alfred's eyes widen so much before. It had the same effect once again, except for the fact that it was accompanied by an aroused heavy breathing due to the continuous rubbing at Alfred's crotch. Ivan could feel the hard-on through his shoes, and it made the Russian even more sadistic.

The Russian dangled the weighed chain in front of Alfred's eyes, allowing the lawyer the opportunity to think about and anticipate—not to mention fear—the pain that he was about to feel at the hands—or clamps—of this specific toy. Satisfaction flooded through the Russian when he saw Alfred's lips tremble a little at the sight of the weighted chain with clips at each end. Boy was this day going to be fun.

"Do you know what this is, slut?" Ivan asked, swinging the chain back and forth just a little to emphasize the subject of his question. Alfred's eyes showed a hint of panic as he stared on the chain—not full on panic, however, because of the dulling properties that sexual pleasure tended to have. Alfred moaned a little from Ivan's ministrations in his lower areas and only managed a nod as an answer.

"Well, if you do know, then show me where this goes. Touch those areas for me…" The Russian smirked and waited for his orders to be obeyed. Since the American was starting to become so submissive to the Russian's demands, Ivan's plans had to change a little. Now it wasn't a matter of whether or not Ivan's demands were followed—it was how _fast_ those demands were met. Alfred, however, took a while to react due to the sheer pleasure that was emanating from his crotch. Therefore, he moved slowly, though well aware of his actions.

"Faster, slut," Ivan murmured in a lethal tone. Blushing an even deeper red—if that was at all possible, Alfred's hands flew straight to his nipples. He touched them tentatively, not sure what to do. Though he did set aside all inhibitions, he wasn't going to give Ivan more of a show than Ivan demanded—_that_ would just be sheer insanity. Not that this wasn't sheer insanity already…

"Twist them, pull at them… get them nice and hard so that these clamps have something to latch on to… Wouldn't want them falling off, da…?" It was clear that Ivan was enjoying this oh so very much. Ivan had always been one for voyeurism. Humiliation is doubled for the slave, and the fun is doubled for the Russian. Win-win situation, da?

Alfred was definitely thoroughly humiliated at the moment, and he could only see this situation getting worse. This was only the beginning of Ivan's sadistic plans after all… This could last years… The lawyer shuddered at the thought—though he wasn't sure if that was a shudder of fear, or a shudder of pleasure. The lawyer whimpered suddenly when the Russian's foot stopped moving. Involuntarily, Alfred shot Ivan a beseeching look, hating himself for it. He wanted pleasure; he needed the release. Alfred was too worked up to stop now so suddenly.

"Looks like someone wants this, da?" Ivan mused, moving his foot just a little again to emphasize the question. Alfred moaned and his breathing hitched a little once he felt it again, but the lawyer fell back and sat on his feet when Ivan stopped for the second time. After about a minute of silence with Ivan looking intently at Alfred, the lawyer figured that that wasn't one of Ivan's rhetorical questions designed for humiliation purposes only. So he answered it with a small nod, slightly off his high and now more and more aware of his situation once again. Alfred knew that he was quickly losing himself, and if he didn't keep his mind on task about the information, then he could possibly end up getting too swept up in this for a while, with no end in sight—not that that probably wasn't going to happen anyways. _You're doing this for Arthur… Doing this for Arthur… Arthur,_ Alfred reminded himself, which somehow, deep down somewhere, just made the lawyer feel sicker about himself and hate himself further. _You're having pleasure at the hand of Arthur's ex-husband, all for Arthur,_ the other half of his brain retorted sarcastically. At that point, Alfred willed his mind to shut up, otherwise he might just end up feeling worse, if that was even possible. As long as he felt that he was doing the right thing, and not allowing his brain to think on it any further, perhaps Alfred would survive through this with some scrap of pride left—though he doubted it.

The Russian _tsked_, highly unsatisfied with the American's answer. To show his disapproval, the foot on Alfred's crotch suddenly pushed with great pressure, as if intending to step on his crotch and crush his dick and balls right then and there. Alfred's breath caught in surprise, breathing in with a quick intake of pain.

"What's the right answer…?" Ivan quizzed his slave with a ghost of a smirk appearing on his expression.

Alfred wasn't capable whatsoever of mustering that glare that he hoped for somewhere deep in his mind. Alfred had experienced too much pleasure, too much pleasure at the hands of pain—Ivan's hands—to even come up with any complete thought.

"Please…" was all he managed to get out through the involuntary actions of his mind and lips working together. Alfred's rational consciousness was on leave.

Leaning down, Ivan placed his head right next to Alfred's, his lips right at Alfred's ear, smirking.

"That's right, bitch… You're my _whore_." The first clamp went on, sending sharp pain shooting from Alfred's right nipple. The lawyer let out a shout, which involuntarily became a soft whimper. Peter really had no idea how no one came running yet, considering that this was an office building. However, he really was in no position to ask without giving himself away, and that really wasn't in his best interest at the moment.

"If only everyone knew what a _slut_ you truly are…" With that, the second one clipped on, causing Alfred to yelp once again, his cock twitching in his pants.

Able to feel Alfred's hard on through his foot, Ivan, letting up the pressure and stepping back to admire his handiwork. The redness around the nipples was just starting to form. Oh how Ivan absolutely _adored_ that tinge of scarlet.

Alfred had his eyes closed, his glasses askew on his nose. The lawyer was biting his bottom lip, trying to keep from any utterance that would betray the pain—and pleasure—that he was currently feeling. His efforts were a little wasted, however, in the form of soft whimpers and moans that escaped him despite his efforts.

"Perhaps I need to take you to the tailor's… Your pants do seem a bit tight," Ivan remarked, eyes twinkling. Alfred didn't have to open his eyes to know that the sadistic Russian was smirking.

"Why don't you reach down there and give some much needed air to that throbbing cock of yours…?" By the gentle sadistic tone, Alfred could tell that it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. Despite that, Alfred was still concentrating too hard on suppressing his need to comply as quickly as Ivan would have liked.

"Show me that pitiful erection of yours. _Now_." Ivan commanded, switching voices instantaneously. It was obvious that Ivan had a lot of practice ordering people to strip.

Alfred moaned when he heard that voice, despite his pride and attempts to tone his high down. It was a terrible thing that that Russian voice was starting to accompany the thought of pleasure—especially pleasure derived from pain—in Alfred's mind. Very terrible.

The lawyer's hands shot down to his pants, quickly unbuttoning the top and pulling down the zipper. A large shaft leaking a constant stream of white precum shot out, standing proudly at attention. Ivan was surprised at Alfred's size, but pleased by it also. This would be a lot more fun than he had ever imagined.

Ivan knelt down, left hand grasping the shaft. He could hear Alfred's sharp though soft intake of breath. Alfred's eyes were still closed, his eyebrows creased, far too high and desperately needing release. Involuntarily, Alfred started moving himself within Ivan's grasp. The Russian only chuckled and let his slave be. Alfred probably should have been a little suspicious as to why Ivan was being so gentle and complying all of a sudden, but he was far too focused on release at the moment to care, his carnal needs taking over.

Just as globs and globs of precum was leaking more and more abundantly out of the tip and coating both Alfred's cock and Ivan's hand, and just as Alfred was about to feel the release that he so desperately sought, he felt a sudden tightness around the base of his cock, and it got tighter and tighter, until the pain was almost unbearable. Alfred's eyes flew open to look down at his own cock just in time to see Ivan back off from his purplish and angry hard on, which had a damn cock ring at its base. Alfred whimpered a little at the sight, and looked up at Ivan, not sure what to do, but pretty sure that he would do almost anything at the moment to get that release. He _needed_ it.

Ivan presented Alfred with his hand, the one covered with Alfred's white liquids.

"Clean it."

At this point, Alfred was definitely far too lost within his need to much protest and argue. He just wanted release—not even remembering his original quest for information—and if licking off Ivan's hands would bring him closer than that, then Alfred jump right to it.

The American leaned over just slightly, painfully aware of his throbbing hard on, sitting right in plain sight. Tentatively at first, Alfred quickly became more and more straightforward in his ministrations to Ivan's hand as time progressed. Soon, he simply knelt there, sucking dutifully at Ivan's fingers, making sure that they were squeaky clean of his own salty liquids.

"That's a good slave," Ivan cooed.

Ivan pulled his hands from Alfred's lips and let it trail through Alfred's hair, ending at the back of Alfred's head. The hand gripped Alfred's hair, the grip tightening more and more until tears sprang to Alfred's eyes—not that there weren't tears there already from the purplish throbbing mass that was currently Alfred's dick. Alfred let out a small gasp of pain.

"Bend over for me, bitch." Ivan practically threw Alfred's head to the ground. Alfred complied swiftly and kept his head against the carpet, its roughness irritating his smooth cheek. He was aware of the position that he was currently in, head on the ground, ass stuck up in the air, almost begging to be used. Perhaps calling him a whore wasn't far too inaccurate a description, Alfred thought, feeling the waves of humiliation course through him.

Laughing a soft laugh that would have sent Rawhead and Bloody Bones running for the hills, Ivan sat himself back down on his swivel chair, very satisfied with the way that things were developing. The Russian had practically forgotten about Peter's existence, the boy having been lying there so quietly.

Placing one booted foot forward, the one that had been causing Alfred so much discomfort and pleasure before, and presented it right next to the lawyer's face.

"Lick my boot clean, slut. It's been soiled by touching you," Ivan uttered, spitting on Alfred's face, the one still pressed to the ground. "Make sure that it's shiny and spotless."

Tentatively, Alfred stuck his tongue out, seeing no use in really arguing much. And plus, he still had that hard on that needed taking care of, for he felt like he would burst any minute from just the sheer pressure that had built up. But at least nothing was happening to make the pressure worse. For now.

Running his tongue up and down the dark brown leather that was the main material of Ivan's boot, Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, trying to bring his mind to other things, in an attempt to both bring himself from the disgusting act that he was currently being made to perform and to distract himself from the burning heat that was emanating from his crotch.

Ivan quickly grew tired of watching the American and his ministrations to the boot. It was time for far more interesting—and probably, since it _was_ Ivan, after all, more humiliating—things. Though the ring did the job on Alfred's crotch, and his will seemed to be temporarily broken, Ivan knew that the lawyer possessed too much pride in himself—for that was just the manner of a lawyer—to be broken so easily. This was just a temporary episode, and perhaps Ivan could play with the man for a little bit before proving him the release that he so strongly craved. Then the game would, naturally, start again.

But until then…

Ivan quickly pulled his boot away from the American, who had seemed to give himself over completely to the task of cleaning Ivan's shoe, though quite subconsciously so, for when Ivan had pulled his shoe away, Alfred's eyes flew open, startled at the sudden change, breaking the vacation that his mind had attempted to take elsewhere.

Ivan smiled down at his shiny boot, which glistened with his lawyer's saliva. And here Ivan thought that lawyers only bootlicked judges. Ivan chuckled softly when he realized how wrong he had been in that assumption.

"And now for the final polish," Ivan murmured as he leaned down and grabbed the American's head by a tuft of dirty blond hair. Alfred groaned, but went ignored by the Russian, who was intent on getting his dear boot clean. Using Alfred's head as a rag, Ivan polished his boot until he found the shine satisfactory. It was only an added bonus that clumps of Alfred's hair were stuck together by means of his own saliva.

Standing up, Ivan put his hands in his pockets, smiling at the sun outside of his window. Despite the snow that was falling in a steady stream of flakes, there were occasions where the clouds would part for just a little while and sunlight managed to duck under the dark and illuminate the world. It really was quite pretty. Too bad Alfred couldn't see it from his position. _A pity_, thought the Russian.

Turning back to the slave at his feet, Ivan enjoyed the view of the lawyer with his pants still bunched around at his knees, ass begging to be taken. Ivan just might put Alfred out of his misery and answer that plea.

Walking around to Alfred's back, knowing that the lawyer would be painfully aware of his every move, Ivan stopped just out of Alfred's line of sight, surveying his property with great glee. It was the glee of a child, even though the game at hand was anything but child's play. Nevertheless, it was all Ivan could do to hold back his excitement. He decided that he _would_ take Alfred, all the while letting the man suffer his bonds. Well, bond. Singular. That would only bring Alfred lower, and Ivan reveled in the idea. Not to mention that the Russian was quite sure that he would be the first to take the lawyer, since Ivan surmised that between Alfred and Arthur, Alfred probably wasn't the receiver of such a… _specific show of affection_, and the thought of that just made Ivan's day.

"So… slut," Ivan mused, edging his boot up to a position just below Alfred's hanging hard on, the top of the leather just barely grazing the bursting member, eliciting a soft whimper from the lawyer. "Want to get fucked?" The language was crude, but it caused the moan that Ivan craved from his slave. The Russian chuckled, lifting his foot up just a little, leaning on his heel, and moving his foot around. "I'll take that as a yes," he smirked, getting white goo on his shoe once again. Alfred would have to do yet another cleaning job later on. For now, Ivan would concentrate on the task at hand, which was getting _into_ Alfred.

Kneeling down behind the American, Ivan whipped out his own member faster than most people could even blink and rammed it into Alfred with no warning—and no lube. He liked it full of pain and suffering.

Alfred let out a yelp and jumped a little, despite his laying down position, through quickly settling back in to a shivering whimper, trying to fight back the tears that suddenly appeared at his eyes. His ass felt like it was being split in two and emanating fire at the same time. Dear lord did it hurt. Alfred was seeing stars from the dizziness that suddenly settled upon him from the sudden attack, and his vision blurred. He was slurring the lines between painful awareness and the blissful release of unconsciousness.

Ivan continued to ram into the anal virgin, heedless of the copious amount of pain that he was causing his lawyer. Grunting, Ivan commented, "Your ass is so tight, bitch…" Ivan continued his thrusts, his speed becoming ever faster and faster. "But don't worry. It'll soon be very loose and willing, won't it?" Ivan chuckled at the fun that he had just foreshadowed.

Alfred, meanwhile, was barely able to stay coherent, let alone listen to what the Russian was saying. As he kept on his stream of moans and whimpers, all he heard were noises upon noises, but he wasn't able to comprehend any of it. There was just too much pain—pain from his first ever sodomy experience, pain from his cheek rubbing violently against the carpeted ground, pain from his heart being broken to smaller and smaller pieces, and pain from his pride suffering the same fate.

Ivan quickened his pace, very close to release. He felt Alfred tighten up instinctively, which was, in the Russian's opinion, always the best part. If Alfred was coherent enough, he'd be utterly humiliated, not that he wasn't already. Too bad that Alfred wouldn't be able to gain his release though, due to the cock ring. Ah well, what a pity.

Just as Alfred was about to pass out from sensory overload and the copious amount of pain, Ivan reached down and gripped a tuft of his lawyer's hair. Ivan pulled Alfred's head up, eliciting a half yelp, half moan from the American. Alfred's eyes shot open in surprise, his mind suddenly coming back to reality. There was so much pain… So much _pleasure_…

Alfred let out a yell instinctively as Ivan increased his pace. He could feel the Russian grow in size and knew, from his own masturbatory experience, that Ivan was about to blow. And right on cue, Ivan let his load go within the American, and dropped Alfred's head. Alfred, caught by surprise once again, fell back down with a thunk. He already had a migraine from the pain, and that drop did _not_ help.

Ivan quickly pulled out, and Alfred half whimpered at the loss before he even realized what he was doing. His mind was in a minor haze of pain and pleasure, however, and it was a miracle that he could even think clearly enough to somewhat feel that that whimper was humiliating. But all he craved was release, and he was out of energy to get that from the Russian for the present moment. His member was still throbbing and painfully erect, however, and it definitely wasn't going away any time soon.

Peter, all the while, had been laying there trying to be as still as possible while he listened to the interesting noises to his right.

Ivan snatched a butt plug out of a side drawer and swiftly pushed it into Alfred's gaping hole, using the white cum dripping out of it as lube to get the thing in. Alfred let out a groan and intrinsically pushed back. The plug fell into place as his sphincter passed the largest width. Alfred relaxed and let out a sigh. It felt painful, but it was smaller than Ivan's member, and Alfred hated—yet couldn't help—the small fundamental part of him that yearned for something larger…

Ivan stood back to view his handiwork, then walked around to Alfred's front, cock still hanging loose—and still hard.

"Open up," Ivan sneered, pulling the lawyer's head up by his hair once again. "I'm pretty sure that you didn't eat much at Feliciano's." Without waiting for much of a reaction from a pretty beat Alfred, Ivan plunged his member into the slack mouth and forced Alfred to attention, in more ways than one—not that his cock wasn't already throbbing and in such pain that he wasn't sure cutting if straight off would be more painful.

The lawyer's eyes widened, gagging on the sudden intrusion. He tried to cough and pull backwards to clear his throat, attempting to clear his mouth of the foul taste, but the hand in his hair prevented him from such. Ivan left his cock there and sat down in his swivel chair, relaxing into the cushion. "Clean it well, bitch." Not really having a choice, Alfred figured he might as well get started… Perhaps if Ivan was pleased, then Alfred would finally get some release. _Please_, Alfred couldn't help but think.

Closing his eyes, Alfred set to work, and eventually, Ivan let go of Alfred's hair. Alfred, taking this as a sign that he was doing something right, subconsciously increased his efforts, his carnal need for pleasure taking over. Ivan chuckled, watching Alfred with an appreciative gaze. The lawyer wasn't half bad for a virgin in all things homosexual. There was definitely a profit to be made. A hefty profit indeed…

Just then there was the small sound of the turn of the doorknob, which Ivan heard because he had been expecting it, but which Alfred missed due to his being currently occupied. Ivan glanced up with a beaming smile and greeted none other than Arthur's startled face.

* * *

Arthur looked upon the scene before him and felt the images burn themselves into his mind forever. There Alfred was, on his knees, clearly giving head of his own free will. There were no chains—save the ones connecting the lawyer's nipple clamps. Heck, Ivan's hand wasn't even there to keep a hold on that ever moving head. Alfred hadn't even stopped when Arthur entered. Now _that_ was some enjoyment, if nothing else. And frankly, that was disgusting.

"Arthur!" Looking to his right, Arthur saw Peter half sitting, half lying there in surprise. Arthur didn't move. Some part of him was overjoyed that Peter was there, looking relatively okay, considering the fact that he had been under Ivan's 'care' for god knows how long; another part of him pulled his eyes back to Alfred, who had looked up and was staring at Arthur, Ivan's cock still halfway in his mouth.

Peter glanced over at Alfred, knowing full well what to expect considering that he had been listening this whole time. Still, no amount of preparation by ear can ever prepare a person's sight. Peter looked away quickly back to his brother, and said nothing further when he saw that Arthur's eyes were on Alfred and Ivan.

Feeling highly uncomfortable and slightly traumatized, Arthur cleared his throat, not sure if he should step out and close the door or come in and do the same. Either way, he had to close this door. As much as he despised Alfred, Arthur still loved the lawyer, and he couldn't risk the lawyer's career by exposing it to just anyone who passes by behind. Anyways, the lawyer was doing a fine job of ruining his life as it was. In the end, Arthur decided to enter, closing the door behind him. Francis remained outside, perhaps to guard the door.

* * *

Alfred looked up, eyes wide, finally realizing that there actually was someone else there. Someone watching. And that someone was Arthur, the last person that he wanted there.

Immediately, he tried to pull off of Ivan's cock, heat rising in a flood to his cheeks. Ivan _tutted_ and, without looking down, placed his hand on the back of Alfred's head, forcefully, but making it look gentle. The Russian spoke, "Don't stop just because of them, slut. I'm sure they should know about your… _darker_ side as well." Softer, he murmured, just loud enough that only Alfred could hear, "Information." That froze the lawyer in his tracks. He felt so humiliated, and his pride was completely destroyed and trampled on. Arthur was standing there, staring at him. Alfred could see that right through his glasses. There was no way that this could go any lower for him. Then and there, staring at Arthur's disgusted expression, something broke within the American. Something irreparable. Something that Alfred could never fix, no matter how much therapy he would go through—that is, if he could ever get free from Ivan's clutches. Something that only Arthur could fix, and it was clear to the lawyer, looking at the disdain and sheer horror in Arthur's eyes, that that was never going to happen. It was never going to happen. And it was still all Alfred's fault.

With tears brimming his eyes, Alfred slowly started sucking again, moving his head up and down the large shaft, willing himself to be strong—or as strong as he could be given his current predicament—and not cry. This was probably the last time he was going to see Arthur, and it pained him so badly. This would be Arthur's parting impression of him: on his knees, butt plug clearly visible, his cock hard and throbbing, giving head to the ex-husband who was pimping out Arthur's younger brother until very recently. Oh how Alfred wanted to cry. Just curl into a ball and cry. But he couldn't. Making sure that Arthur and Peter would be completely safe in their new life was the only thing left for him to do before he threw away his life forever. After all, who was he kidding when he actually believed that he could continue life after eight years of this shit? Somewhere in this mess, Alfred had resigned to a life of this to come. It was probably Arthur's expression that put on the final touch and pushed the complete hard truth into Alfred's mind. It was Arthur's expression that killed the light and shimmer in the lawyer's eyes for good. Alfred knew that there was no going back, and securing Arthur's safety would be his final gift. It would be his gift good bye. And with that thought, Alfred closed his eyes, turned his head back down, and started working once again…

* * *

Arthur had made eye contact with Alfred, and was surprised at what he saw. There wasn't any fear, which he hadn't been expecting, but there wasn't any pleasure either, which was what he had been expecting. There was something there, something deep, something self-sacrificial, something of absolute love. Then it clicked in Arthur's mind. It wasn't the look that couples had when they were absolutely in love and happiness, but it was definitely the look that said that Alfred had something for which he would battle to the ends of the earth. And for a moment, Arthur couldn't help the jealousy that flared up within him. Some stupid part of him still loved the lawyer, and was completely heated about whoever could put that look into Alfred's eyes. There was little doubt in the taxi-driver's mind that that person was the person about which Alfred had been so overjoyed about in the bar when he discovered that he was in love. There was also little doubt—now that Arthur had stumbled upon this scene—that that person was Ivan.

Part of Arthur wanted to yell and punch a wall. Damn Ivan. _DAMN IVAN TO HELL!_ Ivan had always taken everything that Arthur ever wanted from the Brit: a _happy _home; money; the joys he had of life; Peter; and now even Alfred's affections? Arthur had no idea what to think. Part of him was thankful that he and Alfred never got anywhere, considering Alfred's more… _wild_ tastes; another part of him wanted to punch the lights out of the Russian, _then_ move on to Alfred; and even another part of him just wanted to grab Peter and make a dash for it, get away from them all. For good. What Arthur needed was time, and it was clear that he wasn't going to get any.

Glancing up, Arthur met Alfred's eyes once again and the anger faded from him. _Alfred… His eyes…_ There was an amount of pain and resignation in them that could never be quantified by any means. All the bright and hyper idiocy had disappeared, replaced by eyes that held a world of sorrow—and more. It had shifted so quickly from the expression that it had held before. Arthur didn't understand it, but he was, once again, given no time to. Alfred quickly broke contact and closed his eyes, returning to his earlier ministrations. It had all been so quick that Arthur wasn't even sure if his probably unstable mind had imagined the pain as a way of comforting himself from the fact that Alfred was in love with Ivan. Arthur continued to look at Alfred for a bit, a small part of him hoping that Alfred would say something—stop and say _anything_—but nothing happened, and eventually, Arthur willed his heart to ignore the "stupid bastard of a lawyer" and turn his attentions to more pressing matters.

Straightening himself up, Arthur glowered at the Russian, trying to find somewhere productive to place his eyes, though frankly he would have settled anywhere but Alfred. After some mental preparation, Arthur finally stepped forward, trying to seem as dignified as he could under his present traumatized circumstances.

Peter swung his legs slowly over the chaise lounge and leaned in a little, not sure whether or not he was allowed to run over and tackle his brother like he dearly wanted to. This seemed to be a serious time, and they would, hopefully, have time to rejoice later. After all, Ivan would have to keep his word—right?

Arthur glanced at Peter, and his hard expression softened a little. His eyes twinkled ever so slightly, and something in Arthur's chest relaxed, almost as if his brain had had his heart in a chokehold ever since they got separated, and his mind had finally relented, upon seeing Peter relatively safe. However, his mind quickly returned to the subject at hand. Ivan was never far away from anyone's mind, after all.

Arthur searched for something cool to say, something intimidating to say, something that would make Ivan see that he meant business. Hard business. But the noises coming from Alfred's direction kept on distracting the Englishman. Eventually, Arthur just wanted to cover up that noise with something—_anything_.

"Peter and I are going to go. Now," he spoke, voice more sure than he was feeling. Things were looking up.

To his surprise, Ivan leaned on his hand, elbow resting on the table, and smiled. Nodding, he murmured, "Of course," like it was obvious. It was all Arthur could do to keep his mouth closed and eyes at a normal size.

It took a moment for Arthur to shake himself of shock, and even then, all he could do was dumbfoundedly ask, "… What?" And Alfred hadn't even stopped. He hadn't even hesitated. It was like he no longer cared or something, or so thought Arthur.

"You and your brother are free to leave, _love_," Ivan added with a smirk. Arthur wasn't sure whether or not he would be annoyed at the name, or surprised that this was happening. Finally, he settled on suspicious.

"What's in it for you? And don't you even say nothing. I know you too well for that." _And boy do I regret it_. Arthur raised one thick eyebrow, not able to help himself. Holding back the mouth drop and the eyes was all he had the capacity to do.

Ivan feigned a look of mock horror. Putting a hand to his heart and completely ignoring Alfred, who had probably cleaned off everything that needed to be cleaned by now, the Russian spoke, "I'm offended! You don't think that I can do this out of the goodness of my heart?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, laughed, then landed his eyes, completely serious, on Ivan. "Stop shitting me."

Ivan chuckled, highly amused at his little Brit. However, soon, Ivan's eyes grew less joyful and more pleased. He shot Arthur a look that said a lot more than words could say. "I've already received… _payment_. Don't worry. You're right. I never do anything without something in it for me, and," he gave Arthur an emphatic look, "I will add that this _compensation_ is good. _Very_ good indeed." Alfred heard these words, and caught the double entendre loud and clear. His cheeks flared bright red, but never once did he stop, and never once did anyone notice.

Arthur felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something in that voice that made Arthur fear his safety; there was something dangerous in there, something sadistic. Well, who cared, as long as it wasn't Peter that was the object of such sadism.

Giving Ivan one hard stare, Arthur finally started walking slowly toward Peter, never once taking his eyes off of the Russian. It was still far too good to be true. There _must_ have been something that he was missing.

With a foot left between them, Peter closed the distance and hugged his brother, though not too long, for he recognized that this was not their moment of rejoicing just yet. There was still a heavy weight in his mind about the magnitude of what Alfred had done for Arthur, and what Alfred was _still_ doing for Arthur—though, given the present situation and the wet noise that was reminding him of exactly that, Peter didn't quite want to think about that.

Arthur squeezed his brother lightly around the shoulders, still not looking down at Peter, and stated, "We will go." It seemed a little childish to say "don't you even try to stop us" since he clearly stated that he wasn't going to. There was something deeper at play, and it bugged the hell out of Arthur.

Ivan held up a hand. "Wait." Arthur froze. _Here it comes,_ Arthur thought. What was it to be now? Did Ivan want Arthur to find someone to throw into the life of being Ivan's servant? Did Ivan want Arthur himself to perform some depraved sexual act? Did Ivan want to cut off Arthur's balls to hang up on his wall as a prize? Arthur wouldn't put anything past the Russian.

Ivan placed a hand on Alfred's hair to slow him down a little. Ivan didn't want to release himself yet, still in the presence of Arthur, and still talking business. He wanted it to come just at the right moment.

"I've made some arrangements for you." Alfred perked up a little inwardly. He had been with the Russian ever since the agreement was made, and the Russian hadn't made any calls or come in contact with much of anyone since Alfred had taken Peter from Kiku's grasp. So how had he made any arrangements already? Then again, how the hell had he gotten Arthur over here either? Alfred decided not to even as himself these questions and feign inward ignorance as well. There was no point. Ivan was just scary in some ways.

Arthur raised one eyebrow once again at Ivan's words. He didn't like where this was going. There were too many dead ends, too many scary monsters, too many vats of blood. However, he stood proud and listened, for Peter, if not for himself.

"Francis there," Ivan motioned toward the door, "will take you to a hotel, where you both will get the chance to freshen up a little. _Then_, you will both head to the airport."

Peter's eyes widened. He didn't know that they were leaving so soon. He had thought that perhaps they would be able to get some things together, say good-bye to some people, then leave in a few days. He didn't want to leave like this—but then again, leaving at all was cause for joy enough.

Arthur, on the other hand, who didn't know about anything, was utterly confused.

"Wait, what?" he asked, highly incredulous.

"You're moving to London. The papers are in process for a house there already, and by the time you land, someone should be there to pick you up with the keys to your new house. Peter's school information has already been transferred, and he is now attending the City of London School."

"Wha—why—how—huh?"

"Oh, Arthur… You never cease to amuse me. As I said, compensation has been received, and that payment has made it so that you get a new life in London. I am letting you go. For a very good price, of course," Ivan assured Arthur. "Someone will give you the details later."

Arthur could still not believe his ears. He was going to live in London? What was the catch? House arrest? Well, all he wanted at the present moment was to get away from Ivan and rejoice in being with Peter once again. He could figure out the details later, but so far it seemed okay—though it seemed far too nice. Whatever this compensation was, it must have been a crapload of money for Ivan to let Arthur _and_ Peter go like that, Arthur thought. What a sudden change! And here he was, having thought that he would get gloated at when he entered the door. He couldn't have been more wrong.

"Why don't I believe that his is all sparkles and niceties?" Arthur asked, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, it's not," Ivan laughed, glancing down at Alfred, whose eyes opened wide. Had he really missed something? "It's just that the messy parts and the _fun_, or so I view it, is better found in someone else." Thinking about the man at his feet, Ivan murmured, "Frankly, I don't need you anymore…" Smirking, Ivan stated, "Now go. It was fun, Arthur~! Perhaps you will think of me, and miss the feeling of my hands. I _know_ you love me, my little раздражительный one…"

Arthur grew highly annoyed with the names, especially that one. He lashed back.

"Don't flatter yourself, Ivan. I can only start to imagine what a bumbling _fool_ I was back then, but mark my words. I do not love you. I don't even understand now why I ever did. You are _nothing_ to me, Ivan. NOTHING." Arthur turned in a huff, pulling Peter with him. He opened the door, then stopped. Turning around, Arthur glared at Alfred, still on his knees, and licking Ivan's shaft, seeming to pay Arthur no mind. "And frankly, neither are you, Alfred F. Jones." With those words, Arthur slammed the door behind him, too angry and annoyed, not to mention tired, to worry much over the details of why they were flying to London, or that they were going to London at all. He just couldn't stand either of them apart, and he definitely couldn't stand the two of them together.

Francis just smiled when Arthur looked up, and Arthur had a vague feeling that Francis had been thinking about killing someone, but was fuming to much to let it bother him.

Without a word, the Frenchman led them to the elevator, down, and to the black Porsche. Getting in, Francis only remarked, "Ah, mon cher, how your life complicates." With that, they were off to the hotel, and Arthur was speeding away, as far away as possible, from both Ivan and Alfred.

* * *

**Author's Comments:**

Oh my gosh, guys... I am so sorry I've been M.I.A. for so long. I didn't mean to put half a year between the last chapter and this one. I feel so bad about it. I was just so busy, and I worked on this chapter bit by bit during the summer, but even then, I was so busy with camp and all that. I mean, I got a boyfriend, then dumped him after deciding that guys were totally stupid. While I was at it, I went to Japanese camp, tried to participate in NaNoWriMo, and am having a very eventful junior year thus far. But I missed this story, and I felt really guilty for having pushed off doing this chapter for so long! I mean it guys. You all have been so good to me, and you all have made me so happy with all the reviews, and I'm sorry that I didn't show my appreciation better. I will try to update more often now, I swear! It's just that school's been tough, and the classes have been hard, and I've been very, _very_ busy. But please, don't ever lose faith in this story's continuation. If there's one promise that I can keep is that this story will not be dropped. I _will_ finish this story. So please... don't leave? ._.

Other than that, I guess... Hmm... I love you guys? A lot? MAN have I missed writing this section, and putting up updates, and writing the commentary up top. This is the only time I really get to let loose and let my inner self flow, you know?

A couple notes on the story... First of all, "Well, Alfred could go and visit England in eight years…" See what I did thar? =P I like giving double meanings to things. :3

Second, you know what I realize? I've been switching weathers a lot. I've been inconsistent with it. For some reason, my author's mind wants it to be summer, but my logical mind has it as winter, near Christmas. So from here on, it's near Christmas. I made that executive decision because I RULE THIS WORLD. Fufufufufu~ So sorry for those of you who caught the inconsistencies, and I'll try hard to keep this story as consistent as possible (though I've been failing quite hard). ._.

Third, раздражительный means "crabby" in Russian (no, I don't speak Russian. I don't even know if this is right. It was the best that I could do after about a half an hour of research). Though if anyone out there speaks Russian, do tell me if I'm wrong, or if there is a better term that I can use here to mean what I want to mean (which you can probably get from context).

Fourth, this is my first time ever writing any sort of M rated thing, and I'm sorry if it sucked. I can't write this for shit, but at least I tried, right? For those of you who cringed, I'm sorry that it took up the majority of the chapter, but there were some requests for it, so... yeah... Don't hate me? Or even better, tell me what you think?

Anyways... I LOVE YOU GUYS! For those of you who have stuck with me, and even for those of you who just picked this up, thank you, thank you, thank you for even getting to chapter 22 of this story.

Happy holidays!

- Galythia

P.S. I have NO IDEA how to end this story. I mean, I did, but then my old ideas kept getting new ideas, and then those ideas had babies, and then now I am stuck with a plethora of ideas, many of which are completely against other ideas, so in short, I have a question for you guys: what do you guys want the ending to be? Or at least, what theme do you want it to have? Tragedy? Happy ever after in England after eight years (boy that will be tough)? Tell meeee~

P.P.S. For those of who you I promised prizes for my previous questions, don't worry! I have not forgotten! I'm working on icequeen76's prize right now, so icequeen, if you're out there reading this, know that I haven't forgotten about you! And all of you others who are waiting on something I have promised to give, know that I am still giving it, just not quite right at this moment! I'm sooooo swamped. TT_TT But know that I will get it to you, and I will work on it, and that I have not forgotten! I'm just really... a fail at the moment, and a little of a mess. D:

Love ya!


	24. Apologies But I'm Back

Hey... guys. I feel really weird about writing to you guys all of a sudden, because I feel a little like Alfred feels about himself. I really did end up leaving you guys, hanging, though that definitely was never my intention. One thing just led to another... for about two years, and well, here I am. I promised I wouldn't drop, I know, but being away for that long sort of feels like dropping anyways, doesn't it?

Anyways, I'm really, really sorry. I hope that you guys are still reading, still interested, and still willing to see this thing through with me. I'm working on chapter 23 right now, and it's almost done. I just haven't had the time. A lot has happened since we've last seen each other, to me and to you guys, right?

I graduated from high school after a crazily intense senior year. I'm currently taking a gap year, which I'm spending in Japan to better my Japanese (I've been here since October 2). It's been a blast so far, and I'm staying until June 22 or so. Next year, I'll be a proud freshman at Harvard (which is like, down the street from my house). See? A lot has happened, and I'm sorry that this fic didn't happen with it.

But I'm back. And I'm writing. And I'm determined to make this happen. I have the time now, and the inspiration, and I just hope that you guys are still here with me.

Please forgive me! I can't do it without you guys.

All the best,  
Maggie

P.S. Expect the next chapter within a few days.


	25. Chapter 23

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 23

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur:** I'm still a taxi driver? I have all the money in the world and I _still_ take a job that's a _taxi driver_?

**Peter:** You of all people should know that being a taxi driver in London is tough stuff.

**Arthur: **Yeah... But still...

**Alfred:** I... how... could you... what...?

**Arthur:** Are you okay? Not that I'd care. It just would be a dampener on my mood if you suddenly were unwell enough to make economic deals with England. That's all.

**Francis:** I think he's suffering from love shock.

**Alfred:** No... no... It's just... my beautiful face! Why, Galythia, _why_? Go for anything else _but_ the face.

**Francis:** I was talking about Arthur, mon cher.

**Arthur: **WHAT? I'm not even in shock. I feel hatred, and anger, and venomous thoughts! That's what it is.

**Francis: **_Tsk._ You should let yourself learn about life's... greater pleasures.

**Arthur:** No thanks, I've had enough of that from the creepiness of this story.

**Ivan: **Who's creepy...?

**Arthur and Alfred: **Not you! Definitely, not you.

**Ivan: **Awww... just when I had hoped to make a good impression on you... *eye glint*

* * *

Over the next several months, Arthur kept looking, metaphorically and literally, over his shoulders. He always felt like he was being watched, and was very careful with his actions, despite the fact that nothing had happened to either of the Kirkland brothers yet. They were still unharmed, had had been living—though perhaps not comfortably (in the paranoia sense)—in England for a few months already. Both senior and junior Brit were both highly aware of themselves and their surroundings.

Every day that managed to pass by without a hitch was always a surprise to Arthur, who had simply far too much time to himself to stoke his paranoia. He hadn't even expected to get onto a plane that looked officially like it was headed for England, and even then, he was still quite surprised when it landed. Still, it took him a few days of careful investigation to finally believe that it really was London, and that it wasn't just some fake cruel joke on Ivan's part—for he fully believed that Ivan was capable of rebuilding a model of all of London just for Arthur if he ever so desired. And so, Arthur did what he was so used to doing, and found himself a job. Just one. Somehow, he had also found himself in possession of a bank account of plenty along with the deeds to a home that he found quite pleasing—all of which, of course, he found quite suspicious. However, he wasn't really in a position to refuse any of it either, no matter how stubborn he could be at times.

Peter went to the City of London School, which he somehow never had to take the entrance exams for. He didn't even have to take the French exam required of all students 13+, which he surely would have failed. They just mailed him the acceptance letter, and then on the first day of term, he just showed up in his uniform and started right in. Peter never felt like he really belonged at a private school, and he still didn't feel that he belonged now. He made a few acquaintances over the months, but most of his friends came from the neighborhood, since he always occupied his free time with helping around when he wasn't doing homework. He came to know the neighbors well, and would tell them that Arthur was never free, so that Arthur wouldn't have to make their acquaintance as well.

During his whole time in England thus far, Peter had been looking for an opportune moment to tell Arthur the true story of Alfred F. Jones. However, whenever he started to, he either just couldn't find the words for such a daunting task, or Arthur would break away at the mention of Alfred and run away. Arthur wouldn't even make an excuse or anything. He just always said that he didn't want to talk about "those creeps from his past."

And thus... a year, then two passed. Peter, now 17, and Arthur now 27, fell into a routine. Arthur would take Peter to school every morning, then go to work as a taxi driver. This might not sound too exciting, but Arthur found it quite fun. It reminded him fondly of the "good-old days" before all the crap happened, and it was actually pretty hard stuff with the Knowledge and all. London was a _big_ place.

Peter then came home from school by himself and did all of his homework while he waited for Arthur to return. When Arthur came back, he would still valiantly attempt to cook dinner. Peter never quite understood how his brother managed to burn water, but his brother was able to do things that he thought most people couldn't—like live through such hell. So maybe burning water wasn't that bad after all.

Some nights, Peter stole away to a friend's house for dinner, and Arthur was too tired to come and make friends, so he just wished Peter a good time and ate by himself. It was on these days that Peter most wanted to tell Arthur the truth, because it was on these days that Arthur looked most pained. Those green eyes were cracked, and when Arthur smiled, he never _smiled_ anymore. When Arthur walked into the room, you couldn't tell that much was amiss if you never knew him from before, but to Peter, Arthur was very different from who he had been three years ago. Even though there were bad times back then, Arthur always managed a smile, always ruffled Peter's hair, as much as he "hated" it, and always went at life with a certain enthusiasm that some struggling people have.

But now, it seemed like Arthur was on the other side of the struggling people spectrum, wherein he felt fatigued, beleaguered by his existence as he dealt with a different struggle than necessary material goods. After all this time, he still loved Alfred, and his love still shone just as brightly. He could never look at anyone else in the same way, or imagine doing so. Nevertheless, throughout this time, he had been vehemently hating the fact that he still loved that "arse of a lawyer," and that took a gradual toll on him.

This was until Peter decided it was too much. He couldn't bear it for himself anymore, and though he knew that it was mainly a selfish reason in doing so, Peter wanted to force Arthur to listen. The pained looks, the long sighs—they were all just too much to bear for Peter, who wanted to give his brother at least something to fight for, if only to fight his younger brother about a story.

Thus, one day, as they were having a sort of oatmeal-esque thing for dinner, with unidentified lumps and all, Peter abruptly stopped eating and uttered, "You don't know what you're talking about when it comes to Alfred."

Arthur's spoon clattered on the table in the silence that followed. They sat in silence as Arthur shot his brother a look that was tinged with anger. This was part of the reason that Peter wanted it all to end. Sure, his brother had gotten angry at him before, but never with such deathly vehemence. It scared the crap out of him.

The sound of a chair screeching broke the silence, and Arthur made to stand up. He was done with dinner, for all he cared. All appetite was gone.

"No!" Peter yelled suddenly. He was surprised at himself, for he didn't raise his voice often at anything, unlike his easily annoyed brother. Arthur was surprised as well, and temporarily stopped. "You _cannot_ keep running away. Do you know what he did for you?"

Arthur turned practically livid now. How could his own brother defend such an immoral bastard? What had Arthur done wrong in Peter's upbringing to make him like this?

"What _he_ did for _me__?__" _Arthur was incredulous. "You were there. You should know full well what he did for me. I became homeless and you... you..." Arthur couldn't bring himself to say anything about it. Peter being in Ivan's hands was what haunted him most—more so than his hatred for Ivan, more so than his love for Alfred, more so than his hatred of himself at being so damn useless and somehow still in love with the bastard. "I don't want to talk about it." He took up his dishes and walked to the sink.

Peter stood up as well. "_Would you just listen to me for a minute?_" he insisted, now angry himself. Why was Arthur so damn stupid and stubborn sometimes?

Arthur shot him a venomous glance. "Why should I? You were locked in a cage for most of the proceedings! How would you know anything while you were being fondled?!" Arthur realized his words a moment too late and his expression immediately changed to one of worry. "I"m sor—"

"Don't be," Peter interrupted, still angry. "Just please, give me a listen."

Arthur's eyes hardened. "I. Really. Can't."

"Yes you can! How can you be so sure of yourself? What do you think Ivan received in order to let us go free, _huh_? Have you ever—"

The doorbell rang. Arthur and Peter glanced up, neither expecting anyone or any delivery. Arthur made it for the door, replying in a frustrated tone over his shoulder, "I've never wanted to think about Ivan or Alfred again. _Why do you still want to_?"

"Because I want you to know that Alfred gave his—"

Arthur opened the door, and in tumbled a disheveled man, covered in blood, definitely unconscious, if not dead, with an arm sticking out at a weird angle which made Arthur sure the limb was broken.

"... life for you..." Peter finished. He dashed for the door, already with an inkling as to who this was. Arthur looked outside the doorway just in time to see a black Porsche drive down the road and turn a corner. That Porsche looked too similar to the ones he had known... Arthur shuddered, lost in his thoughts.

A quiet sob from Peter pulled Arthur back to reality. He turned around to look and stopped dead in the middle of his action. The face was almost unrecognizable, having been bashed, and bruised, and... was that a piercing? But there was no mistaking that "sleeping" expression, which he had seen many times in the rearview mirror when he had been a chauffer, or the hair, which was matted with blood, but had a certain style that Arthur had never encountered anywhere else. The broken man before him, who looked like he had been wrestled by all the pro-wrestlers throughout history at once, was the man he loved. The man who betrayed him. And the man who, as far as he's known, loved Ivan.

Arthur's fragile heart crumbled, and all his emotional inhibitions wore away as he stared upon the body, unable to move. Torrents of emotion crashed through him as he found himself falling to his knees, unable to expend energy to support himself anymore. Just when he thought his past was gone... Pain gripped his heart, anger pierced his soul, and, most of all, love filled his body. It was so much more than he was ever prepared for, and Arthur fainted.

Of all the people who came through that door, why did it have to be Alfred F. Jones?

* * *

Author's Comments:

As it's looking right now, I think the next chapter is the last chapter. This is the first story I've ever written, so I don't know how well it's turned out. Thank you for you guys who gave me constructive criticism, since it's helped me quite a bit for the future chapters. I read all of your comments, and I think I reply to all of them too. It's been quite a long haul, hasn't it? ^_^"

Now that I've gotten back into writing fanfiction, my next stories will be better and better because of all the comments on this one! Thanks so much!

If you guys want to know my future plans, it's as follows:  
- Shwatsonlock: I've been meaning to write about them for a while, especially since the BBC series came out, but I haven't had a chance to (and I had to finish this fic first!)  
- Hornblower/Kennedy: this pairing comes from Horatio Hornblower, which I'm not sure if you've seen before, but you definitely should. It's so good that it hurts. It's also a book series by C. S. Forrester, which is just equally amazing, but different in its own way.  
- OC pairings (which obviously won't be on here, because they're fanfiction of my own characters): I've been RPing with a friend of mine, and we've developed quite a good slew of characters for me to write about, and I've been wanting to write about them for quite a while.  
- More Hetalia (especially USxUK): I miss Hetalia, and though I haven't watched in in a while, I've been meaning to start again (and read the manga in Japanese if I can)  
- Yuuram: This comes from Kyou Kara Maoh! (which is an awesome anime/manga), and they were my first OTP, yet I've never gotten the guts to write about them yet. I think YuuCon is also a favorite from KKM, but I definitely have even less guts to write about that right now. xD

I hope you guys like this chapter! I know that my writing style has changed quite a bit from before (and it's totally fallen apart out of disuse, but I hope to bring it back up to par soon). As always, any comment is welcome. If you don't like, tell me why, if you do like, please let me know. =]

All the best,  
Galythia


	26. Chapter 24

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 24

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Arthur:** This is... too deep for me. Oh the Lord above...

**Peter:** I know what you mean... Wow.

**Alfred: **I can't believe that I only say one thing in this chapter! How many lines is that for the _hero_ of the story?

**Arthur: ***shooting Alfred a dark glance* How can you _say_ that? Have you _read _this chapter?

**Alfred:** Obviously... How would I know how many lines I have if I didn't?

**Arthur: **I'm just surprised you can read...

**Peter: **Shush, you two. I think this is the best chapter yet.

**Francis: **Oui. Je suis d'accord, mon petit... Even I have nothing... how do you say... _snarky _to say here...

**Gilbert:** Did someone mention _snarky_? How was I not here for this? Do you guys never invite me just because I'm too awesome?

**Arthur: **Nobody invited you because they thought you'd be busy screwing Roderick in some dark corner.

**Gilbert: **Well, it's not like you'd be that far off. I mean—

**Peter:** WILL YOU GUYS SHUT UP? Give this chapter the respect that it needs, guys.

**Gilbert: **Sheesh... This party's no fun anyways.

* * *

Peter couldn't believe his eyes. Here Alfred was, before him, all battered and bruised. Goddamn, if Alfred was dead, Peter would never forgive himself for not letting Arthur know the truth before all of this happened. This would be the worst way to find out something—not to mention that Peter had no idea how this situation seemed to Arthur, who was poorly mistaken on most counts. How could he hate Alfred when he saw just how badly hurt Alfred was?

And then Peter heard the thud, and looked up to see that his brother was now lying next to Alfred, on top of the rug that was collecting quite a bit of blood—too much blood. Peter hoped to god that this wasn't all the lawyer's blood, since that would mean that Alfred was from another planet, or carried an extra five litres within his body, or was actually dead—and the last possibility was _not_ a possibility.

Peter shook himself out of the shock surprisingly well for somebody who had just seen a bloody man fall through his front door. His brother obviously didn't have his quick thinking skills or emotional reactivity, and thus, was lying on the ground, just as useless as ever.

The boy pulled out his cell and dialed 999, quickly but calmly telling the operator what had happened. Of course, he couldn't explain why there was a possibly dead man at his doorstep, or why his brother was unconscious because of it—well, not in truth, but he had said that Arthur got squeamish at the sight of blood, which wasn't false, either. They were sending medics and cops straight away, and all that was left to do was wait.

Peter closed the front door and walked around the house to gather up a few things for Arthur, whom he knew would be at the hospital for a while, whether conscious or unconscious he was yet to find out. It's not like the two prone figures at the front would move if Peter left them alone or something anyways.

It was all sort of a numb process, collecting stuff like a sweater, reading glasses, a change of clothing, etc. He got stuff for himself too, sure that he would stay at the hospital until at least Arthur awoke, if not Alfred—that is, if Alfred was even still alive. Peter was sure his school wouldn't mind considering such dire circumstances anyways.

* * *

When the medics finally arrived, they smothered him, gave him a blanket, told him that he must be in so much shock and that he should rest, like he was some small child. It's been years though, and even as a child, Peter was never happy-go-lucky and carefree like everyone else. He had lost that sense quite early on.

Some part of him believed that he probably was in shock, which was why he could react so calmly to this whole situation, but another part of him was proud and thought that he definitely wasn't in shock. There was no way that this little thing could cause him shock after the rest of his life experiences... Nevertheless, he went along with it because it would shut the adults up. He was almost one himself, and hoped that he wouldn't be as belittling as they were sometimes.

When they reached the hospital, Peter got whisked away to a room before he could say anything else, and was actually _locked in_ until they had a psychologist arrive. All he could do was wait and hope for the best. He didn't even get to find out whether or not the second ambulance, which held Alfred, had rushed to the hospital for naught.

* * *

Waking up from consciousness has been sometimes described in books as something alike to waking up from a long nap, in which the memories slowly come back to you sometimes, though sensations ravage you all at once. That wasn't the case with Arthur, who woke with a start, eyes not slowly opening in the cliché way, but popping open. He remembered everything, and almost fell back into unconsciousness from the pain of it all.

It was Alfred. Alfred had been there. And he was covered. In blood. Oh god. Arthur didn't know if he still felt angry, or if he was just plain worried, and all other emotions would have to wait. Yeah, it was that. The second one. No matter what, his stupid love for the lawyer came first, and he hated that more than anything else. But the self-hatred would have to get in the back of the line too. There were many emotions queueing up for admittance, and Arthur fought desperately to not let them all overcome him like last time. _One thing at a time_, he reminded himself.

Arthur slowly scanned the room and was saddened by the fact that he was alone... The sun was shining through the window with the glaring brightness of high noon. Thus, Arthur figured that his brother must be at school. He was glad that Peter chose to continue his education, though maybe the honesty of it was that Peter had given up hope in his brother or something. _Have I been unconscious that long? Oh god... What if this is like the movies, and I've been unconscious for years?_

Arthur shuddered, which he expected to hurt like hell, but it didn't hurt at all. It wasn't like he had suffered any injuries or something before the fall, and his nurses had come in regularly to change his limb position and work his muscles to change and increase blood flow. In fact, Arthur felt just fine—discounting the torrential emotions, of course.

The Brit closed his eyes. How did life get so far away from him? Arthur just wanted it all to stop. He didn't want to feel these emotions warring inside him anymore. He didn't want to see Alfred, but then again, he did. He didn't want Ivan to be a part of his life, but every morning, his bank account reminded him that that was an impossibility. He didn't want to go back to living a desensitized existence, but there was no way he saw for things to go back to the way they were. And most of all, he didn't want to... Arthur didn't even want to think about it. If he was going to see Alfred, goddamn it, he would see the guy alive. There was _no_ way that Fate could be such an arse.

Arthur was facing away from the door when it opened slightly. He could hear Peter's voice say something quietly to someone, and the reply was quite muffled as well, except for the last words, which were "... tried their best. But they can't do any more." With that, the nurse departed, and Arthur tried his best to not cry out. His heart felt like it was being death-gripped by Rambo, and pain, both physically and emotionally, shot through him. It seemed that Fate was a stupid fucking arse after all. No surprise there.

Arthur remained silent as he heard his brother sit down. He wanted to say something, but no words would come. Somewhere in there, Alfred being alive had been his last hope, even if the logical part of his mind knew that it was no hope at all to begin with. Yet, every day, Arthur had a ten minute portion of the day where he would sit by the window and observe. He told himself that this was just to admire England more, but when he wasn't kidding himself, he knew that deep down somewhere, he hoped for Alfred to show up. But that never happened. Until now. And it wasn't how he had imagined it to be.

* * *

Peter entered the room after his quick chat with the nurse and sighed. His brother was still unconscious, it seemed. Usually people aren't unconscious this long and this deep from mere shock, but the doctors had informed him that if a person was highly traumatized, either emotionally or physically, this could occur. They were fishing for some facts, but Peter neither confirmed nor denied it, deciding that if Arthur wanted his creepy history known, he could tell the doctors himself when he woke up.

Kirkland junior always knew that his elder brother would be fine. Brits—especially the two Kirkland brothers—were made of tougher stuff than that. Arthur had survived worse things, and he would definitely pull through now. It was only a matter of waiting. And that's exactly what Peter did.

Peter sat down in the chair and rested his cheek in his hand, elbow on the armrest. Little did he know, he was thinking the same thoughts as his brother. When had life gotten away from them so much? Everything was just seeming to maybe settle somewhere, and now all of a sudden this happens. His brother was unconscious, and Alfred... well, Alfred was a different story altogether.

When they had first arrived at the hospital, Peter had been rushed to the psychiatric ward to be evaluated for shock. He had honestly thought he was in shock at first, since he was reacting to this so calmly that it surprised even himself. _Keep calm and carry on, eh_? He asked himself, very much calm in the face of such horrendous happenings. Anyone else probably would have fainted too.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he wasn't in shock. No. He was just mature for his age. After all, there were many things in his past that could have produced even more shock. Compared to those events, this was a cakewalk.

Thus, when the psychiatrist entered the room, he was greeted by a most odd sight: Peter Kirkland, age 17, was sitting upright on a stool, staring at the wall, his expression that of deep concentration, his eyes full of intelligence and awareness. Almost everyone he'd seen whom he expected to have "massive shock" was either crying at this stage or in another state of denial or sullenness. But not this kid. Peter had even extended a hand and said, "Pleased to meet you."

And from there, the meeting went completely off track. Peter tried to explain himself as fast as possible, just so he could get out of there to see how Arthur and Alfred were. He kept glancing periodically at the clock as he spoke, willing for time to slow down and give him what he needed to explain effectively to this psychiatrist why he definitely wasn't in shock.

The poor psychiatrist, on the other hand, did not come into the room prepared to hear what he did end up hearing. He had been expecting to ask some questions, check some boxes, write some notes, and then make some diagnosis. No way was he ready to hear about a child prostitution ring, the Yakuza and Mafiya working together, a lawyer getting sodomized, etc. And this 17-year-old kid should become a writer, considering how detailed he was getting. The psychiatrist was pale as an egg when Peter finished.

Peter had been telling his life story with no intention on making the guy faint or something along those lines. He had hoped that since the guy was a scientific person, maybe they could both look at the situation objectively together and see that in light of everything that's ever happened to Peter, there was no way that this would cause problems. Peter outright admitted that he probably was traumatized, and there was probably some coping mechanism that allowed him to speak so freely and openly about all of this, but he then added that the focus of the session was _just_ the shock, and as they can both _obviously_ conclude, Peter would feel no shock at a bloody body falling on his doorstep when he had seen much worse during his younger days half-nakedly straddling some guy with something poking at his arse? The psychiatrist just _had_ to see the logic.

In the end, the psychiatrist, who had not written anything the whole time, just jotted down, with a shaky hand, "Seems to be perfectly fine. Logic works very well, and he can think very clearly." With that, Peter felt satisfied, and he left the psychiatrist to go to the ICU. The poor psychiatrist was still staring at the wall with furrowed brows when a nurse went to find him later.

* * *

Peter had decided to go to the ICU first because he _knew_ that if Arthur woke up, he would ask about Alfred quite early on in the conversation, even if Arthur would never admit it. Peter could see that Arthur still deeply cared about Alfred, which is why it broke his heart to pieces over and over when Arthur would never listen to what Peter had to say on the matter. For two damn years, Arthur wouldn't listen. Maybe the recent change of events would remedy that. Maybe—Peter allowed himself the hope—Arthur might even end up hearing it from Alfred himself.

When Peter reached the ICU, the doctors wouldn't give him anything. The nurses didn't know anything either. All they said was that the doctors were still in there working hard. Peter wasn't sure if he was supposed to take this as the truth, meaning that Alfred was probably alive, or if he should take this as the standard placating phrase, meaning that nobody had any idea what was going on, and Peter would have to wait for one of the doctors to stick their heads out the door and call his name.

Younger Kirkland waited for a bit, but was highly impatient to see how his brother was doing as well. In the end, brotherly love won out, and Peter dashed around trying to find Arthur's room. When he entered, he hoped to god that his brother was awake, and was dejected to see that Arthur was still out. Peter couldn't help a small smile though, because in spite of how horrible everything's been, or how terrible this one event was, to both Peter and Arthur, this was the first time in a while that Peter had seen Arthur's expression so peaceful. For even when Arthur slept, he was always moaning about something or other, face contorted in pain—well, Peter thought it was pain, at least—and Arthur would always wake with a coating of sweat on his skin. But now, as his brother lay unconscious, Peter could see the softer lines. The lines that used to exist when Arthur smiled.

Peter had called his school and had coerced a nurse into verifying his situation. The school understood why he couldn't show up, and Peter, in return for their understanding, showed up like a good student and picked up his homework with a few days' advance as well. And thus, for the next three days, his free time was spent doing homework, exploring the hospital, reading, or running back and forth between the ICU and Arthur.

It had been later in the day of the incident when Peter had finally heard from the ICU. He had sat around with a book waiting for what felt like at least an hour before someone popped out with "Kirkland" spewing from their lips. Peter jumped up immediately, and asked the guy, who looked skeptical, to get straight to the point. He gave Peter the standard good news and bad news that's usually seen in the movies: Alfred was stable—Peter felt relief pulse through him, and he exhaled loudly—but he was still in critical condition. He had lost a lot of blood blah blah blah broken arm blah blah blah. However, what had taken Peter by surprise were the first and second degree burn marks the doctors had discovered when they cleaned Alfred up—and apparently, some of that blood wasn't Alfred's, which Peter wasn't sure whether or not he should be glad about.

Anyways, those burn marks seemed like they came from two sources: cigarettes, and direct fire, from candles and such. They were beyond the point of complete recovery, meaning that if Alfred ever did get up and about again, he would always have those scars. There were also deep gashes from whipping all down Alfred's backside, some of which were still raw, as if they had happened only earlier that day.

Peter was horrified at the details of the state Alfred was in, and tried to remind himself that at least the lawyer was still alive. There was still hope yet. Alfred might be the only American Peter knew whom he trusted with the honor of being "as strong as a Brit." The lawyer would—_had to_—survive and pull through.

And thus, for the next three days, Peter visited them both equally. He often read books beside them, sometimes even to them, when he thought that there was something that either Arthur or Alfred would find particularly amusing, even if neither could hear him. It just comforted Peter more than anything. After all, three days in a hospital with your closest friend unconscious and your savior in a coma could be rough on a kid. He felt pretty lonely by the time Friday afternoon came along.

Peter had just been coming back from the ICU when Arthur had woken up. Younger Kirkland had been talking to the nurse about Alfred's coma status, which wasn't changing at all for the past three days. They still couldn't move him out of the ICU because he was still fragile, and the doctors were still quite worried, despite the fact that everything was stable. Of course, it was more the worry of "What's gonna happen when that guy wakes up? Is he gonna stab somebody?"-type than anything else. They didn't want to run the risk of him going haywire if—when—Alfred ever woke up. Of course, this was all Peter guessing. No doctor would openly admit that, but Peter could see it in their eyes.

When he entered the room, he hoped, like every single time he entered before then, that Arthur would be eyeing the door. But his older brother looked asleep as always, though a bit paler than usual. Peter wasn't sure if that was a trick of the afternoon light, or whether or not he should actually be worried.

The younger Kirkland plopped himself down with his exasperated sigh, resting his arms on the chair. Perhaps it would be another day spent alone. Peter rolled his head around to clear the crinks from his neck, resigning himself to another session of reading "out loud" to himself. Thus, he was highly surprised when, as he reached for Arthur's book, he heard the voice of his brother ring out loud and clear, very alert and awake.

"How long have I been out?"

Peter nearly topped the chair backwards in his rush to get up and get to Arthur's bedside. His ears had better not have been playing tricks on him.

"Arthur! You're awake! You're awake!"

Arthur turned to look at his brother and gave him a feeble smile, though it definitely didn't reach those once piercing green eyes. Now they were just dulled and... average.

"That I am. What day is it?"

"It's Friday. Friday afternoon."

"Friday?" Peter could see his brother doing some mental calculation. Even though the guy had just woken up from a three day session of unconsciousness, he could still do fast math. Arthur was definitely more intelligent than he let on, sometimes, especially about math and physics. "Three days?" Arthur scanned his brother, looking for telltale signs of Arthur's neglect, which he was angry at himself for. Yet another emotion to join the party. "Have you been eating well? Vegetables? What about brushing your teeth? Going to school?"_  
_

Peter chuckled, a little bit pleased that his brother would think to ask about him before Alfred. "I've... ah..." He had been neglecting hygiene a bit, but then again, who doesn't when they've been living in a hosiptal?—as odd as that seems. "Well, I at least called school, so they know why I haven't been going... And I've been eating corn and broccoli!" Peter smiled, "But you know how I feel about peas," he added half jokingly.

Arthur tried to give his brother a better smile, which resulted in something of a comical grimace. "Yeah..." At this point, old Arthur would have definitely cracked a wise-arse joke and make fun of Peter. But that was back in the day, and this was now. Peter's hair had gone unruffled for nearly four years.

Peter opened his mouth to say something about Alfred, suddenly remembering the good news, but a nurse burst into the room with a bright smile on her face and started barraging Arthur with questions. Peter felt that that was somehow the wrong way to treat a guy who had just come out of three days of sleep, but he didn't say anything. Arthur seemed pretty occupied anyways, and so Peter took the opportunity to slip out to the ICU again to tell Alfred the good news.

* * *

"Hey, Alfred. Hope you're feeling better," Peter said as he pulled aside one side of the curtain that looped around Alfred to give him privacy from his ward-mates. It had been something of a ritual for Peter to say this every time he entered Alfred's area, and today was no different.

Peter smiled down at Alfred's peaceful face and said softly, "Guess what? Arthur's awake. And of course, the first thing he asks me about is school and vegetables. What a brother, eh?" Peter tried to laugh, but no sound really came out. It wasn't like the situation they were in became any lighter because his brother was suddenly awake. If anything, it became more dire and suffocating, because now Peter would have to deal with Arthur's _awake _state, which was either devoid of emotions or full of them all at once. And who knows how Arthur would be from that point on?

As Peter looked at Alfred's bandaged form, his mind wafted back to the doctor's comments. Alfred's body had been abused pretty badly, and though he wasn't told, Peter could guess that there would be scarring from the repeated sodomy as well—and if those scars had been caused only by dicks, then Alfred was very lucky. The one saving grace was that Alfred's face had been left untouched. From the top of his shoulders up, there was no scarring or bruising, except for the one hickey which had been pretty fresh when he had "arrived" on Tuesday, and was now fading like hickeys are wont to do. There was also an ear piercing, which looked like it had been done hastily and messily, and probably had caused a lot of pain, but it hadn't been infected, and once the earring was removed, one could hardly even tell it was there unless one was looking.

If one just looked at Alfred's peaceful face right now and forgot that the rest of his body was just white gauze, no one would ever know the horrors that occurred. In fact, if Alfred ever went back to his suit wearing days, they effectively covered the damaged areas. None the wiser.

Peter stared at the lawyer for a bit more, ever grateful of the man's sacrifices. Only Peter knew how great they were, and he was determined to honor them in his own way, even if his brother wouldn't listen. That was why he visited Alfred every day, read to him, spent time with him, etc. It wasn't for his brother, but for himself. Peter was sure he'd still be stuck in that hell hole had it not been for Alfred's bravery. And he definitely wouldn't still be a virgin now—a badge which he wore proudly. Everyone was so quick to give it away, and Peter vowed to not touch it until he was practically married to somebody.

* * *

When Peter returned to Arthur's room, he found his brother looking out the window, staring at the setting sun. Peter wordlessly pulled up a chair beside Arthur and sat down to watch the sun himself. It wasn't until the sun had dipped it's flaming tendrils below the horizon that Peter broke the silence.

"Arthur... when you're discharged, do you want to visit Alfred?"

Of all the things his brother had to mention, why did it have to be that stupid lawyer? Arthur had been trying his best not to think about it. If keeping his emotions in check had been hard before, it was damned near impossible now. Why did Peter think that he would want to see Alfred's pale, cold face, with the full knowledge that that face would never smile at him again? Or gaze longingly at those handsome features, knowing that the lawyer's own intelligent and blazing blue eyes would now _definitely_never reciprocate the action?

"No. I don't."

Peter was taken aback. Had something changed that he had missed? "But yo—"

"I _said_ I _don't_." Both the brothers heard the steel in Arthur's voice. Peter wavered a little. This was another mark of recent times. No matter how pissed Arthur had gotten before, that lethal tone had never been undertaken against Peter. That was until... well, until they were reunited after the whole thing ordeal, and their relationship had never quite been the same ever since.

"Arthur—"

"_Let. Me. BE._" Arthur was fighting back tears now. In fact, one had already slipped through and was a small damp mark on his otherwise unmarred pillowcase. His body accepted Alfred's death already, and had begun the lament, while his mind refused to give in, and his heart was just... off frolicking somewhere, having escaped the realm of sanity a while ago due to all the emotions that had been constantly attacking it.

Peter took Arthur's hand strongly, if not a bit forcefully. "_Listen to me_."

Arthur, surprised at his brother's equally lethal tone, turned surprised and damp green eyes to gaze upon his brother's face. Peter had _never_ taken on that tone with Arthur before. If it was that important to the boy, then he would listen. Arthur could deal with his stupid emotions later.

When he saw that he had his brother's attention, Peter continued, "How do you expect Alfred to get out of a coma if you refuse to support him?"

Arthur stopped short. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'How do you—'"

"No, not that. Alfred's in... a coma?"

Peter creased his eyebrows, confused as to why this was the focus of his sentence. "Yes," he replied hesitantly. He was definitely missing something here.

Arthur fell back on the bed and let out a huge sigh of relief, which he didn't realize he had been holding hostage until now. He laughed, shakily. Oh god. Fate was _so_ toying with him. Alfred was alive! And, of course, with his nasty slew of emotions, that fact made him want to jump for joy, flip a table over, and bawl in sadness all at the same time. _Man_ what a life this was.

It also brought back his dear, dear friend "self-hatred," who loved to haunt his mind and his heart, taking up the spare space here and there left behind by everything else. Self-hatred could fit anywhere, which is what made it so lethal. It always managed to find footing somehow, and Arthur desperately fought it back to the end of the line. _One at a time_, he reminded himself once again.

Peter raised one eyebrow, unsure of how to react to this whole thing. Was his brother laughing? What was so funny about Alfred being in a coma? At least he wasn't dea—oh. OH.

Kirkland junior hastily spoke an apology, followed by, "I didn't realize. I thought that you had... Oh, what am I saying? Yes, he's alive. He's stable. He's just not _awake_."

Peter flopped his head down so that it rested on the bed and reiterated his question when Arthur had calmed himself down and had wiped his tears away.

"So... do you want to visit him?"

Arthur contemplated the question for quite a while before saying anything. Did he want to see Alfred, or not? The answer was both, actually, for both would hurt equally. But there was a very nice selfish reward in being able to gaze upon his love's face, which was something he never thought he'd ever be able to do again. And that sole fact was what decided it for him. After all, with the lifestyles that they led, who knew if this would turn out to be his last opportunity?

"... Yeah, I guess."

* * *

Arthur got discharged the next afternoon. They had kept him overnight to monitor his vitals and stuff, ask him a few questions in the morning, see if he was in need of a some sort of therapy, etc. Little did _they_ know...

The elder Brit let nothing slip out about his past and life traumas as he was sort of grilled—at least he felt that it was a partially hostile questioning—about his experiences. Cops also came around, of course. They had had there fill of Peter, who had said that Alfred F. Jones was a friend from the past, but they knew nothing more. Arthur said the same, in no way expecting the Boys in Blue to be able to deal with Ivan, let alone his cohorts as well. It would be better if the law wasn't involved; it had never done Arthur right before, and he didn't expect it to start its benevolence now.

When all was said and done, it was three-thirty. Arthur was hungry, and very weary from all the questions, which were unduly repetitive. Didn't cops, investigators, and psychiatrists talk to each other? He wanted to speak up in the middle of all of that and just say, "I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket" and make them all shut up and leave him alone.

It wasn't just the questioning that had made him tired. It was also the mess of emotions he had. Keeping them in check was difficult, and he didn't know how the hell he was going to keep that up when he finally ended up seeing Alfred again. He wanted his mind to just shut up like those investigators and leave him alone as well.

His sleep had been fraught by nightmares the night before, as a bloody and broken Alfred chased him around, with Ivan egging him on. It was too weird, yet too close to the truth. After all, what the hell was Alfred doing here anyways? He wouldn't be here unless Ivan knew about it, and Ivan was okay with his... boyfriend?—was that what Alfred was to Ivan?—being here with Arthur? Something didn't feel right.

* * *

The first stop the Kirklands made after discharge was to the hospital café. Arthur ordered a whole pot of Earl Grey, which he proceeded to drink completely, even though it was really meant to be shared between four people. Peter, on the other hand, had been raised almost completely in America, and thus didn't have the strong taste for tea that his brother had. Settling for a coke, the younger brother then proceeded to catch Arthur up to date.

Of course, in those three days, nothing much had happened besides lots of reading, homework, and seeing people with their eyes closed, so there wasn't much to tell. They quickly moved past that part of the conversation and on to ground that neither was sure should be breached. Arthur started first, to Peter's relief.

"So... Alfred," Arthur spoke, letting the name roll around on his tongue. It had been such a long time since he uttered that name without anger or yelling, and it felt... kind of nice. Of course, when coupled with emotional internal warfare, some of the shiny niceness dulled. "How... is he?" Arthur wasn't sure that he wanted to know, but he wanted to be as mentally prepared as possible before he actually looked upon the man. After all, his latest memory was of that shiny corn-colored hair all matted and covered in red, and those grotesque lines of darker crimson on the visible skin, where the wounds actually were. What had happened to Alfred?

"He's... stable," Peter began, not sure how much to tell. Part of him wanted to spill the whole thing right there in the café, background story and all, but Peter knew that his brother wasn't ready. It would take more than two—almost three—years and a pot of tea to make Arthur even want to hear, let alone listen.

Thus, Peter settled for telling Arthur about how Alfred hadn't showed signs of improvement over the past three days, but also hadn't deteriorated either. They intravenously supplied the lawyer with the necessary nutritions, and they worked his muscles a little everyday. But there was only so much that anyone could do besides waiting at this stage. Even the daily muscle movement was a temporary measure; there wouldn't be much point in keeping it up daily if Alfred was going to be out for the long run.

Peter didn't go into detail about the injuries the doctors had found on Alfred's body. He wanted to save Arthur—and himself—from the implications of what such injuries meant, especially since they were most probably caused in a sexual setting. Both Arthur and Peter had too much experience with that side of life to trust their wild imaginations.

Arthur listened quietly as Peter spoke, using Peter's calm and stable voice as a crutch. He still didn't know how he felt about Alfred being back in his life again. _Well, he's not quite in your life yet_, Arthur had to remind himself. _Maybe he just popped in for a visit._

Even if it obviously wasn't true that Alfred just dropped in—well, not in the idiomatic sense, at least—Arthur now had the time to be enraged about the suddenness of the whole thing. Ever since he had been forcefully relocated to England, Arthur had developed a ritual: every day, for ten minutes, Arthur would sit at the window and observe the outside world. A part of his brain explained this habit as an effort to admire England's luscious scenery—for rarely in New York could one find grass so green, or flowers that bloomed in February. Nevertheless, the more honest part of his brain knew that admiring the scenery was just an excuse for what he really was doing, which was hoping that Alfred would just show up one day.

Of course, now Alfred had done exactly that, and it was not in any way what Arthur had intended. He had wanted to yell, cry, kick and scream, and then slam the door on that handsome face for good measure. But now... how could he do any of that when Alfred was comatose and had returned to him in such a messed up state?

Once again, someone—and he was pretty sure it was Ivan—had fucked up Arthur's plans. _Well, that's what you get for choosing him over me_, Arthur thought bitterly with regards to Alfred's state. Part of him felt bad at still being angry when the victim of his anger was unconscious and had been badly abused, but that was quite a small part of a larger chart of complicated levels, pieces, emotions, etc. It wasn't unlike a detailed map of the underworld in Dante's Inferno, and it felt just as wretched.

* * *

At five o'clock, Arthur found himself outside the doors of the ICU. He was trying to calm himself down, though to no avail. His breathing was already uneven, and he wasn't even in the section yet, let alone the room. His anger and sadness and worry collected together, unleashed their collective claws, and shredded his heart. Arthur didn't know if he wanted to cry or scream. Maybe both at once.

Peter glanced nervously at his brother. Arthur didn't look like he would move unless prompted to do so. Thus, since they were blocking the entrance as well, Peter took it upon himself to open the door and push his brother in.

Arthur stood in the hallway, just as still. It was open visiting time right now, and he stood there observing the families that walked in and out, some laughing, others crying. One woman was bawling her heart out so loudly that she was asked to move as to not disturb the other families and patients. Arthur knew what that meant. He didn't want to go through that with Alfred... But there was no turning back now.

Arthur had the vague urge to buy a flower for Alfred as he watched all the other families pass by with their gifts. Of course, it was easy for them because it was probably a loved one that they were visiting, and the feelings were probably reciprocal, or at least acknowledged. It felt a wrong to Arthur to get something so symbolic for someone who, as far as he knew, was his ex-husband's boyfriend. The relationship between Arthur and Alfred didn't involve flowers—and judging by how it had been going so far, it didn't look like it ever would.

Elder Kirkland took in a shaky steadying breath and closed his eyes. After a minute, those green dulled eyes opened once again, and with new determination, Arthur started down the hallway. _This might be your last chance_, he reminded himself.

* * *

When Arthur opened the door to Alfred's room, he immediately thought he was in the wrong place. There was a family in there already, and they were laughing quite loudly. There was no way that laughter could occupy the same space as Alfred's broken body.

Arthur was in the process of backing out when he ran into Peter, who motioned that this was indeed the right room. Arthur shook his head, eyes wide. _No way._Peter solemnly nodded, having encountered Alfred's roommate's family before. They were always this jovial, and they always brought food with them. He had seen them here every day he himself had been here.

Arthur looked back at the door, complexion a bit green. The last thing he needed was laughing at a time like this. The Brit felt like he was going to throw up if he stood here much longer, hearing the soft sounds through the door.

Peter rolled his eyes. "C'mon. It'll be good for you. You haven't talked to anyone but me and some customers for two years. Friends will be good for you." Plus, Peter could smell the food, and he was hungry. That family had given him some last time he had encountered them, and they had been very nice to him... And somewhere in there, Peter had stupidly promised to introduce them to his brother when he was awake and discharged. So here he was, keeping his promise.

Arthur sputtered out noises of protest as he was shoved in the door. When had his puny little brother gotten so strong?

Noticing their new guests, the Kohler family paused amidst their talk and uttered various hellos. One of them—the one with the light blond, somewhat spiky hair—asked Peter if this was his brother, which got Peter a dark look from Arthur, of the I-will-murder-you-in-a-way-that-makes-Alfred's-injuries-look-like-a-papercut variety. Younger Kirkland ran a hand sheepishly through his hair and smiled.

"Everyone, this is Arthur, my brother. Arthur, this is the Kohler family." Arthur glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, not knowing how to react. This wasn't the time for smiles, and the last thing he wanted to do was meet people. He was here for Alfred, and only Alfred. This wasn't part of the deal. Thus, for one of the first times in his life, Arthur was impolite.

"'Scuse me." He wrenched himself out of Peter's slight grip and turned, swiftly marching out the door.

Peter was dumbfounded. He quickly stammered out an apology and said he'd be right back. The Kohler family gave him sympathetic looks, and Mathias, the spiky haired one and Peter's favorite of the bunch, gave him a thumbs up and said they'd leave some food for when Peter and his brother returned.

Younger Kirkland was grateful as he dashed back out to find his brother standing against the wall, arms crossed. Arthur looked utterly livid. His anger took up the space of a tiger, silently prowling around its owner, teeth bared.

"What was that?" Arthur asked accusatorially.

Peter wavered. He really hadn't expected that reaction from his brother, considering how polite Arthur always was. Honestly, Arthur had even been polite enough to excuse himself before he had stormed out angrily just then, such was the depth of his sense of manners.

"It's good for you."

"How would you know what's good for me?"

"Arthur..." Peter half expected his brother to interrupt, and continued on, surprised, when he wasn't. "You haven't talked to anybody but me and some highly talkative customers ever since... you know..."

Arthur observed his brother, who seemed to be struggling a bit to find the right words. Peter was obviously frustrated though, and embarrassed as well. Older Kirkland sighed. He hadn't wanted them to fight, but they seemed to be doing that more and more in recent times.

Arthur's stomach grumbled, breaking the temporary silence. Neither Kirkland had eaten since breakfast, having been too caught up in police and doctor inquiries. Peter looked his brother in the eye. He really thought some laughter would do Arthur good. Peter himself hadn't heard that mirthful sound in nearly four years. He had heard plenty of crying in the middle of the night though. Enough was enough.

"Look... They have food, and it's still warm. Shepherd's pie. Your favorite."

Arthur didn't know what to do. shepherd's pie _was _his favorite, and it smelled awfully good in the hallway. Plus, he felt bad for having embarrassed Peter, who seemed to have develop some nice relationship with that family, despite the fact that he had only been in the hospital for three days.

"I'm sorry, but... I just..."_ I will not cry._

If anything at all, Arthur at least wanted to be with Alfred in private. This was their reunion, no matter how weird it was. Arthur wanted to savor it a little, now that he had finally mustered up the bravery and emotional wall to do so.

After a moment, while both brothers stared each other down, Peter nodded, and, in a defeated tone, spoke, "I'll text you when they're gone."

With that, elder and younger Kirkland parted ways. It wasn't the first time, but something felt so wrong about the whole thing. It was definitely symbolic of many other past happenings, and the fractured nature of their current relationship. Ivan had driven a wedge between Arthur and everything he loved... even his own brother.

How did things keep screwing up?

In spite of his strength of will, Arthur only made it to the first bench he could find before the tears started to flow, and the quiet sounds of his sobbing echoed hauntingly down the empty hallway.

* * *

Peter went back in and explained to the Kohlers the truth: the man lying comatose on the bed beside Mathias's grandfather was someone special to Arthur, and he wasn't ready to see Alfred in such a state with an audience. The Kohlers were very understanding, and said that they would clear out soon, even though Peter said that there was no rush.

Mathias then proceeded to show Peter a new Danish rap piece he had recently discovered. Even though they had only known each other for three days, and Mathias was twenty-one, Mathias and Peter had already gotten pretty close—then again, it was sort of hard not to get close to someone so outgoing and funny. Mathias had that attractive quality that brought many to his side.

* * *

Arthur received a text when it was seven o'clock. His tears had dried by then, and in their wake, they had left him with a godawful headache. After all, it had been quite a while since Arthur had cried so hard and so emphatically. It felt good to let loose, and Arthur could in no way understand why his mind was punishing him for it.

Arthur glanced over the text and stood up. If anything, his crying had given him a greater willpower to pull through with Alfred's visit. Some of his emotions had even left the line and were, thankfully, giving the poor Brit a rest.

Arthur opened the door a crack to find the dividing curtain out full again. He walked past the first patient, who looked terrible and grey, his skin sinking into the pockets the muscles had vacated. Drawing aside the curtain, Arthur had already, time and time again, mentally prepared himself for the worse. This was the first time he would see Alfred since the lawyer fell through his doorstep, and there was no way Arthur could imagine the lawyer looking any way but like that bloody corpse-esque thing that entered his life three days ago.

What he saw on the other side, he wasn't ready for. Nothing would prepare him for just how shockingly beautiful Alfred was. After two years of not seeing the man in person, such details like Alfred's delicately curved cheeks, or the strong angle of where his jaw bent to meet his ear, tended to fade. Thus, Arthur stopped dead and just... stared. This was even more shocking than the first time he had laid eyes on the man, because now, it was accompanied with a slew of emotions, foremost of which was... love.

No matter how much of an ass Alfred was, he had been nice at some point, a long time ago. And Arthur remembered those days with great fondness, trying to forget whatever had happened after. The days when he had been living a destitute lifestyle, yet was Alfred's driver... well, those days might have just been the best days of his life. He had felt happy. Money definitely couldn't get you that.

Peter glanced up at his brother when Arthur didn't move for a while, and saw his brother staring, wide-eyed at Alfred. It wasn't an expression that Peter had often seen on Arthur's face, especially in recent times, and it was nice to know that, even in a coma, Alfred could coax something out of Arthur that nobody else—not even his own brother—could. Now _that_ was the mark of a good lawyer.

Peter stood up and relinquished his chair to Arthur, who made no move to take it. Younger Kirkland also picked up a paper plate from the bedside table and held it up to his brother's face. "Eat."

Arthur glanced down at the slice of shepherd's pie and immediately felt like such an ass. Not that he wasn't already guilty about what a cruddy brother he had been earlier that day, but now he also felt bad about the Kohlers. They had left that slice for him, even though he had walked out on them without even returning their greeting. _What am I turning into?_ Arthur lamented, thanking his brother for the plate and sitting down in the vacated chair.

As Arthur ate what he suspected to be a delicious shepherd's pie, he lamented because he couldn't taste anything. Everything about him felt numb. This wasn't to say that he wasn't glad that those emotions that had been overrunning his body had suddenly decided to leave him alone, but... numbness of this level felt very... lonely.

What had really surprised Arthur, though, was that the feeling of love remained. It coursed through him, warmed him up, and caressed his broken heart. Somewhere deep inside, anger and hurt at Alfred's betrayal flickered, but was promptly smothered by love's sheer power. He really _was_ in love, and two years apart full of pain and a lust for revenge hadn't changed that in the slightest.

Arthur sighed. He almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic he was sometimes. Ivan always left Arthur picking up the pieces of his life, while all Arthur could gain were the pieces left behind by Ivan. The money that went into Arthur was money the Russian didn't need. The sadism that was directed at Arthur was pain that Ivan had nowhere else to put. And now, there was Alfred. He had probably been dumped too, judging by the looks of it. Arthur was pretty sure that the car he had seen driving away had that special hidden Soviet symbol on it on the logo. And here Arthur was, picking up those pieces that were too far below Ivan's level. Such was his life.

Arthur and Peter sat around Alfred for about an hour, with only an occasional word passing between them, before the both of them got quite tired. It had been a long day, and visiting hours were about to come to an end. Some part of Arthur longed to stay here and to sleep with his head resting beside Alfred's arm, but not only would the nurses not allow him to, but the other side of him wouldn't to. It was the side that expected Alfred's arm to wake up and choke Arthur to death while was asleep. It was the part that had been most vulnerable and thus had felt the most betrayed.

Both Kirklands left the hospital and returned home. They got to bed quickly, and Peter fell right asleep. Arthur, on the other hand, stared at the ceiling all night, his eyelids closing, drooping... and suddenly opening. Every time he was close to the oblivion of sleep, an image of Alfred would cross into his mind, haunting him. This had happened plenty of times before, but definitely not to this extent. Arthur could hear Alfred's laughter, remember, almost verbatim, the many stories Alfred used to tell him in the car as he was driven around from place to place.

However, most of all, Arthur remembered how those eyes used to look at him, all bright and shining with intelligence. Although Alfred could act like a dunce sometimes, when it came to the law, he was the smartest Arthur had ever known about. It was nice to finally be able to recall in greater detail the more fond memories Arthur held of Alfred, but three-thirty in the morning was the wrong time for it.

Arthur had finally gotten to sleep when the sun rose, and didn't rise himself until it was three in the afternoon, and only then because Peter shook him awake. The boy had cooked, and was telling Arthur to come down to get something to eat. Then Arthur could go back to bed or something.

Eventually, the older Kirkland brother came downstairs, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He saw that Peter was wearing his school uniform, which meant that he had actually started school again today. Finally, life was starting to return to normal—well, except for his ex-husband's boyfriend lying comatose inside the ICU of the nearby hospital, with Arthur's name on the list as the only emergency contact. Except that.

Both brothers ate in silence. Arthur marveled at the fact that his brother could cook so well, though Peter only seemed to know how to cook fish. Anything else was just as disastrous as Arthur's attempts to toast bread. But this mackerel before him was delicious—or at least it seemed delicious to Arthur, who couldn't taste anything still. The only thing on his mind was that he wanted to go back to visit Alfred again today, if only because that last visit seemed to help him with better memories haunting his sleep, rather than the ones of betrayal where all he could see was Alfred on his knees in front of Ivan, or Alfred firing him from work, or Alfred drilling him in court—which wasn't the only type of drilling Arthur found himself dreaming about sometime, much to his chagrin.

And so Arthur went back to visit Alfred that day. And the day after that. And the day after that. He never brought any gifts, or any flowers, but he always brought himself, which he hoped was enough. Arthur never brought anything else with him either, to relieve the time. He didn't need anything. All he ever ended up doing was staring at Alfred's unchanging and peaceful face, and it allowed him to think on simpler times.

Arthur had expected to hear something from Ivan about the fact that his boyfriend had just ended up almost dead on Arthur's doorstep, but nothing happened. The money in the Swiss account was still there, the house was still under Arthur's name, and Peter could still attend school perfectly fine. So what was the deal? How had all of this happened? Of course Arthur wanted to know, but he had nobody to ask. The victim was unconscious, and the perpetrator—or perpetrators—were... well, Arthur didn't want to approach them about anything, not even if it was about the freaking apocalypse. _Nothing_ would bring him to that point.

* * *

A month passed... then two... and there were still no signs of change. Alfred had been moved from the ICU into more permanent lodgings, and Arthur was so happy that his bank account—well, Ivan's bank account—was still in existence, because that was the only way he could have kept paying the medical bills to keep Alfred under such care.

Arthur still visited Alfred everyday, and he had even quit his job as a taxi driver, often finding him too distracted to drive well, and he didn't want another lawsuit on his hands if he were to injure a passenger. And so he went to the hospital full-time now, from opening visiting time to closing. All the nurses knew him, though they never talked to him, and the families of the neighboring patients recognized him too, though they gave him a wide berth and left him alone. Arthur had the eyes of someone so haunted that they were beyond saving, and that tended to scare some people.

It had been about two months and a half since Alfred had fell on the doorstep when Arthur's birthday came and passed. He didn't break routine, still going to the hospital as usual. Peter had dropped in after school with a cupcake he had bought from the store—he had tried baking his own ones over the weekend, but... well, let's just say that oven fans were never meant to be coated in egg.

Arthur sometimes even fell asleep as he sat around beside Alfred, though he made sure never to touch the guy. The part of him that felt that Alfred might wake up and strangle him was still around, lurking as it glanced around from behind the confines of Arthur's heart, suspicious of anything and everything.

And it was at such a moment, when Arthur was sort of sleeping, that it happened. Something moved. More importantly, _Alfred_ moved. It was only a finger twitch, but even such a movement was so surprising when everything for the past two months had been so mundane that it was all Arthur could do to hold back a yelp of surprise when his eyes opened just in time to see it happen again and to know it was _real_. Was Alfred finally waking up?

Arthur immediately called for one of the nurses, who came rushing in. He was in the middle of telling her what had happened when he stopped and they _both_ saw it. Immediately, the room went into a flurry of action. People—where the hell had they all come from so quickly?—were yelling things back and forth at each other, running around, checking this and that, holding clipboards that seemed to house something important. Arthur was pushed to the side, and he stayed there, partly not wanting to be in the way, but more so just _terrified_. Alfred was waking up. This was it. _What am I going to do__? _

Arthur had honestly never expected this day to happen, and had never thought about the plan from here on out. What would he say? How could he say anything? Did he trust himself not to put Alfred into another coma? That lurking, overprotective tiger of a feeling reared its head with interest. Was the object of Arthur's anger finally back? Would he get to play?

And just like that, the emotional warfare was back. Arthur stood stock still, his eyes glassed over, not really taking in the situation. What was he going to _do_? Panic swept through him. His breathing hitched and became uneven. He could hear the quickening sound of drums pounding in his ears. His head felt lightheaded, and all of a sudden he was seeing stars.

Not wanting to faint again, Arthur forced himself back to reality and made a dash for the door. The doctors could deal with Alfred fine, and nobody needed a "family member" in the way anyways. Arthur was—as it always seemed to him—better off gone.

* * *

When Arthur was a safe distance away, having ran all the way out of the hospital and into a neighboring park, he called Peter. The young man had just gotten out of school, and was about to head over to a friend's house, yet he dropped all his plans and rushed to the hospital. Alfred was awake, which was great! But more importantly, Arthur sounded like he was about to have a stroke.

When Peter finally found his brother, Arthur was lying down in the shade of a tree, his face red, his skin hot, and his breathing rapid. Peter's eyes widened, not sure what to do. It looked like a fever, but who the hell got a fever so suddenly? Peter knelt down beside his brother and slapped Arthur hard in the face.

"Snap out of it!"

Arthur was still groaning about something, though an involuntary reaction had brought the man's hand up to his cheek. Peter had no choice. He pulled out his water bottle and dumped the whole thing on Arthur's face. His absurd plan was rewarded with a sputter from his older brother, but at least there was nothing else. No more panicky breathing that scared the crap out of Peter. He didn't want to be an orphan so damn close to adulthood, especially if it was because his brother couldn't emotionally handle himself. Peter was here for his brother, but his brother had to actually allow that. Communication was a two way street.

Peter waited patiently as his brother recovered. Arthur stared at the leaves above him swaying in the breeze, trying to calm his mind. It had been a full on attack by his emotions, and it left him so drained. World War Three had just occurred and ended, all in a matter of an hour. And, like all the other world wars, both sides had retired, quietly reflecting that this war had helped improve nothing at all.

Arthur put an arm over his eyes, angry at how pathetic he was. One mention of Alfred and he crumbled to pieces. The guy had some sway over him that no one else ever had, not even Ivan, who could find sway in _everyone_. Was this what it felt like to be hopelessly in unrequited love, and then be betrayed on top of that? Is this what those age-old authors had been trying to describe?

_Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press  
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;  
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express  
The manner of my pity-wanting pain._

_If I might teach thee wit, better it were_  
_Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;_  
_As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,_  
_No news but health from their physicians know;_

_For if I should despair, I should grow mad,_  
_And in my madness might speak ill of thee:_  
_Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,_  
_Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be_

_That I may not be so, nor though belied,_  
_Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide._

All those years ago, when Arthur used to have time to read, he used to read Shakespeare quite a lot. And Sonnet 140 had made no sense. Why would anyone want their lover to tell them he loved them, even when he didn't, and they both knew it? Why would someone want something that was obviously fake? Arthur had asked his professor questions along these lines over and over, and as much as the guy tried to explain this feeling, Arthur didn't understand.

_Wouldn't Mr. Falk be proud of me now..._ Arthur thought with a bittersweet feeling. He understood perfectly. _'For if I should despair, I should grow mad, / And in my sadness might speak ill of thee.' _It made complete sense. And for the first time in his life, Arthur viewed Shakespeare not as a writer, or a famed man, but as a close friend. They had shared something. Something that many people would never understand. He would have to go to a bookstore soon and buy a Shakespeare collection that had Sonnet 140 in it.

It would sit wonderfully next to his copy of _Wuthering Heights_.

* * *

Peter worked hard to convince Arthur to go back. Arthur wanted to, he really did, but he had seldom been this terrified in his life. It wasn't even this bad when Ivan was directly involved. Somehow the thought of talking to Alfred struck more fear in him that any sadistic thing Ivan had ever done.

But eventually, Peter managed to get his brother standing and walking slowly back toward the hospital. Arthur knew what he wanted to say, and he was just trying to pick the right words. What do you express first in a time like this anyways? Pain or anger or love? Where did sadness fit in? Could you put all of those things into one sentence? _I sound like an English teacher..._

Peter opened the door to Arthur's room for his brother. The other patient sharing the room had been discharged earlier in the day, so this room was temporarily just Alfred's. Arthur stood at the door. He could hear active breathing from the other side of the curtain, too uneven and quick to be asleep. His nerve left him. He couldn't do this. No way in hell was he going to do this. He had lied when he told himself that he'd prefer anything over seeing Ivan again. Alfred just _had_ to go and be the exception. He was going to stop. He was going to go home, brush his teeth, change into some warm pajamas, make tea, and read a—

"Arthur?"

That wasn't Peter's voice. In fact, Peter had somehow disappeared suddenly, and Arthur was too distracted to really think about where or how. All that existed in the world at that moment was that voice. That voice that caressed his name with such gentle tentativeness that made him almost shiver. Arthur didn't realize how much he had missed that voice until he heard it again.

The Brit's mind went blank. The fight-or-flight response was kicking in, for some reason, but even _that_couldn't break the barrier that was forming around Arthur's clear mind. _That voice..._

Arthur took a few steps into the room, and his eyes immediately locked with blue. They weren't as he remembered them, which was bright and lively. No, they were pained, those gray flecks no longer reminding him of clouds, but now reminding him of those deep seated cracks one found on the pavements that everybody stepped over and then forgot about. They looked familiar... and that was because he was basically looking at the eyes he saw in the mirror every morning, just blue rather than green.

He couldn't take it. The depth of that look, all the pain that accompanied it—what right did Alfred have in having that look? Was stealing Arthur's heart not enough, and now Alfred had the _audacity_ to steal his _eyes_ too?

Arthur whirled around and made for the door, and was stopped when Alfred called out, "Wait! Arthur!" The sound, which sounded like it had been torn from Alfred's throat, was followed by some very loud hacking coughs that hurt Arthur to even listen to. After all, Alfred hadn't spoken for almost three months, if not more than that. The throat was bound to get rusty in the process.

Arthur said nothing, but complied. He could see what effort Alfred was going through to keep him here. And that non-betrayed, full of love part of him wanted to stay too. He wanted to run to Alfred, embrace the man, and lose himself up in the warmth that he was sure was still there. And as both sides fought, Arthur stood stock still.

"Come back inside," Alfred pleaded. "Close... the doors." Each word sounded more pained than the last.

Arthur turned around, though he kept his eyes down. He didn't want to see into those whirlpools of despair again. With perfunctory motions, Arthur poured Alfred a glass of water and set it on the man's bedside table. The other part of him still didn't want to touch Alfred, and didn't want Alfred to touch him.

Alfred shot Arthur a grateful look as he sipped the water slowly. Arthur's body warred, and eventually his love had won a battle somewhere in there, and Arthur took a seat. He stared at the floor, trying to concentrate on all the beeping noises in the room.

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Alfred said nothing, but Arthur could feel the man's gaze on him. Arthur kept his eyes fixed on a tiny piece of lint on his pants, highly uncomfortable under the new scrutiny. This didn't seem like a good idea. Maybe he really should leave. Alfred didn't seem to want him around for anything else anyways. Maybe the guy had just wanted some water, and was too proud to ask. Yeah, Arthur really should go. There was nothing else to do here, anyways. Absolutely nothing else, right? Righ—

"Arthur, I love you."

And just like that, all thoughts ceased.

* * *

Author's Comments:

Hey guys!

Sorry for the update that was later than intended. FanFic went and deleted this chapter on me as I was writing it, and I had to rewrite it from the beginning. It was pretty long, by this fic's standards, but I hope it didn't feel too rushed to you guys.

To those of you who I have been PMing, this is what I was talking about when I said I lied about there being a chapter left. There is actually one more story chapter after this, and then an epilogue. That is _final_. I swear. It's just... honestly, this cliffhanger was a bit too good to not leave you on, and this chapter was getting quite long already.

I hope you guys enjoyed it, and as always, please leave me a comment to know how you felt. Was it too long, not long enough? Were there more details in a certain area that you wanted more of or less of, etc. Please let me know! Constructive criticism is also welcome, as always.

**For those of you who are interested in me as an author:** I've decided on my next fic. It's another USxUK, this time set during the American Revolution, with them as generals on their own sides, respectively. It also involves Al and Art having been childhood friends before the war, too, so the have more history—and thus, of course, more angst.

I might also somewhere in there write a completely different (and shorter) fic about Alfred being a noble, and Arthur being someone he hires to act as his "female" fiancée as he tries to placate his father about marriage.

Please PM me or comment to let me know if either of these sound interesting to you. I write not only for myself, but also for an audience, and if there is no audience, it sort of deters me from writing about something and sends me in search of something else that I think people would like more.

Hope you guys enjoyed! See you next chapter!  
Galythia


	27. Chapter 25 (Last Real Chapter!)

**On Better Terms**

Chapter 25

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery:

**Francis: **Oh this ending is so sweet~ I might even concede Arthur to Alfred if this is how they felt about each other.

**Arthur: **Wait, what? Feelings? And why do you get to be the one conceding me?!

**Francis: **Oh, you have much to learn, mon cher.

**Alfred:** Hey Artie! Ain't this such a happy ending? I'm like, so happy!

**Arthur: **Oi, cut it out. How can you be happy about this? I hate you.

**Alfred: **That's not how it seemed in this chapter. In fact, if you look down there, you even said—

**Arthur: **Shut up!

**Peter:** Hey, does anyone know where I went? I sort of just disappeared last chapter. o.o

**Ivan: **And in your place, сын, I have appeared... What fun~ Although this nearly wasn't as fun as I wanted it to be. Both of them being slaves would have been so much kinder to the readers, da?

**Galythia: **Somehow I think what you think is best for the readers and what is actually best for the readers differs a little...

**Arthur:** Thank god she is on our side about this...

* * *

"Arthur, I love you."

Arthur's eyes snapped up and locked with Alfred's face, but the lawyer was looking at his bandaged hands, sitting completely still. Arthur couldn't read the lawyer's expression, and frankly, he didn't have the mind to do so, all of his energy still focused on processing those words. It had been the last thing he had expected to hear, and it glued him to his seat.

"... What?" Arthur managed to choke out. The sound was strangled. Was this some cruel joke? Was Ivan and Alfred in on this? Was Alfred such a good actor that he had fooled the doctors and wasn't actually comatose this whole time? Would Ivan and Alfred have gone through something so elaborate just at Arthur's expense?

Yes. Yes they would.

Arthur wanted to punch somebody. Really hard. Make them bleed and leave them to die on the streets. Although the person he wanted to hurt most was himself, for stupidly hoping... just hoping. It would be the world's biggest idiot that would still hope after all of this, and Arthur took on that role despite not wanting to. He just couldn't help his attachment.

Alfred sat in silence. Arthur's reaction wasn't a good one so far. When Alfred glanced up briefly, he saw all the anger and hatred in those eyes. There was also a deep sadness, which Alfred attributed to Arthur's past experiences. Who wouldn't feel that much pain had they went through what Arthur did?

_God, I'm such an idiot..._

Alfred had decided somewhere along the lines of his years with Ivan to live through the whole thing, if only to tell Arthur how he felt. There was no way that he would go without seeing the man's reaction and knowing Arthur's opinion about the matter. Every day, he had repeated this goal to himself, through all the beating, the fucking, the teasing... When he saw Arthur, the first thing he would say were his feelings. No pretenses. He _needed_ to know. And now he knew. That expression spoke volumes.

"I'm sorry. I just woke up. Not sure what I was saying there," Alfred murmured, adding a strained chuckle to try to laugh it off. It was plausible to play it off as a side effect of the coma—or at least, Alfred hoped it was. He hadn't heard much about people who confessed years and years of love as a side effect of a coma before, but hey, there was a first for everything, right? And Alfred couldn't stand seeing that expression much more. He remembered the last words he had ever heard from Arthur's sweet voice: _"You are nothing to me, Ivan. NOTHING. And neither are you, Alfred F. Jones."_ Those words had stung more than anything else he had experienced in Ivan's "care.'

Arthur was struck. _What_? He could have sworn Alfred just said he loved the Brit, and now the guy was just laughing it off. Of course. It really was some cruel joke, wasn't it? Why were these people so intent on making him miserable? And why did he always fall in love with them just to have them hurt him in the end? _I'm such a masochist..._ Maybe Ivan was on to something with all that talk about how Arthur loved the abuse._  
_

Utterly livid, the Brit stood up abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor. He was tired of being abused. Tired of being the object and butt of all of these cruel jokes. And most of all, he was tired of hurting and yearning and stupidly _hoping_, which he knew now was one hundred percent pointless, but he still couldn't help himself. After letting his thoughts known, he was going to let Alfred go. The lawyer was fixed and he could do whatever he wanted with his life. One thing Arthur knew was that he would not be there.

"Fuck you," Arthur spat out, his voice dangerously quiet. "You rich people think you can step all over me. I don't have money, and I don't have looks, and thus, unlike you guys, I'm worth shit." Arthur's voice was steadily rising in volume as he got more and more into his speech. "Well at least take your fucking opinions elsewhere! _Why do you guys like to rub my misery in my face?!_ I've dealt with you and your jokes at my expense, but this one... This one has gone _too far._"

"Arth—" Alfred was mortified.

"No. Not this time. You're not going to interrupt and give me some stupid spiel about how I like abuse, or how you're sorry, though you're really not, and we both know it... Not you." Tears were streaming down Arthur's face. "_Not you._ Tch... I once thought that you were different than them. That you were better. Kinder. That you understood." Arthur looked Alfred straight in the eye with a vehement expression. "Now I see you're like everybody else. Well, cheers to you, because now you're better. Your wounds are fixed, thanks to your _boyfriend_." Arthur spat out that last word like it was some unswallowable thing, like hair in one's mouth.

"Ar—" _Boyfriend?_ Alfred didn't have anybody he was remotely interested in, men or women, except the one who was currently cutting him to pieces with his words.

"_Please_ stop this craziness. Telling me you love me, then laughing it off." Arthur scoffed. "I'll hand it to you that this is the the most elaborate joke I have ever seen. Heck, I should be _flattered_, shouldn't I? I should be so damn flattered that you both went through such trouble just to see me cry and beg for mercy."

"_Art—"_

Arthur pointed to his face, flushed and wet with tears. "Well, was it worth it? Is my expression satisfactory to you? _Are you happy now?!_"

The Brit looked away, clenching both fists, shaking with the strength of his emotions and the extent of his tears. "_Why didn't you leave me alone from the beginning?! Why did you have to treat me with such kindness then_ _**throw me away**?_" Arthur couldn't hold any of it in anymore. All of his emotions poured out of him in waves, and he was surprised to find that the one emotion he felt most was pain. But not the pain of person depressed by abuse. No. That wouldn't have surprised him. It was the pain of someone who was deeply betrayed by a loved one, and was haunted every day because he stupidly still loved the guy, despite the betrayal. That was the foremost emotion, and it came out like a tsunami, while all the others were just regular storm waves crashing against a cliffside.

Arthur slumped down on the ground against the wall, head resting on his knees. He was actively crying now, and he couldn't hide it. Maybe he didn't want to hide it. Maybe he wanted Alfred to see just how much damage he had done, and feel some sense of guilt deep in there. Although if Alfred really was that mean, the lawyer wouldn't care. Lawyers were known for having hearts of steel after all: impenetrable, and cold as Murmansk—the irony of that being a Russian area did not escape Arthur's dark humor. He was a fool for thinking Alfred to be any different.

"To think, I actually... I thought... You... I'm such an idiot for loving you..." The tears wouldn't stop coming, and neither would the pain. He had let everything out on the table. Even his true feelings. He felt like such a fool, but Alfred _had_ to know just how much of an arse he had been. Somewhere in that cold heart, Arthur still thought that Alfred might be capable of feeling remorse.

He cried for what seemed like an hour, though in all honesty, it was only about ten minutes. While Arthur cried, Alfred was sitting on the bed, trying to process everything. He knew that Arthur hated him. That much wasn't a surprise. After Alfred's selfishness at firing Arthur, then the viciousness at court, and then giving head to Arthur's ex... well, Alfred would have hated himself too. In fact, he did hate himself. Arthur had every right to do the same.

Alfred just hadn't anticipated how much it would hurt when he finally heard the whole thing from Arthur, though. Alfred's heart felt all the blood was being squeezed out of it. His lungs were struggling for oxygen, and he was shaking ever so slightly. _Nothing_ that he had experienced at Ivan's hands had ever hurt this much.

But then those last words came, and they hit Alfred full on. He first thought he wasn't hearing right, because after that whole rant, there was no way that it would end with a... confession?! Of all the things that he expected, including punches, slaps, insults, etc., he did not expect a declaration of love, no matter how indirect. It was then that Alfred knew he had to do something. That love statement had been in the present tense after all. Alfred could only hope that the feelings were still the same. Being a lawyer, maybe he could fix things, no matter how fucked up they seemed to be; words were his specialty, after all.

Alfred winced as he moved about. He had to get out of bed. He _had_ to make his way over there. It was dangerous, he knew, but he couldn't leave the love of his life crying there, shivering. One of Alfred's IV drips disconnected, which hurt more than he thought it might, because of the sudden change in fluid pressure, but he ignored it. The rest of his IV stands trailed with him as he moved. So. Painfully. Slowly.

The lawyer had managed a standing position for a mere second before he fell to the ground. His feet hadn't been standing for months. They were out of practice, and couldn't deal with so much happening so quickly. _No matter__. _Alfred still knew how to crawl, even if there was fire pushing up his arms from where his palms pressed against the cold ground. After all, his arms hadn't been in much use either.

Arthur was too busy crying and wallowing to notice that anything was happening. _I did it. I finally did it. Now I just have to... leave..._ —which was easier said than done. But Arthur knew he had to. It was unhealthy, and when he left, he had to leave for good. Permanently. Forever. The thought made Arthur cry a bit harder, even if he knew it was true.

The Brit was working up his nerve to stand up and wipe his tears away when he felt a gentle and warm... hand... on his hair, grazing his cheek. Arthur looked up, surprised. There should have been nobody else in this room. And indeed, there was nobody else. Arthur's red rimmed green eyes came face to face with blue ones—blue ones which were so gentle seeming that it was hard to believe in that moment, despite all of Arthur's experiences, that Alfred could be capable of so much cruelty.

They were mere inches apart, and before Arthur could react, he felt a gentle but firm hand lift his chin up, and something warm and soft touch his lips. Arthur's eyes widened, looking at Alfred's now closed eyes, from the awkwardly close perspective of being close enough to kiss. And indeed they were kissing. And goddamn... Arthur had forgotten just how good it had felt.

After a while, Alfred pulled away. He hadn't gone hard with the kiss. It was a mere press of the lips. More of a please-listen-to-me-_please _kind of kiss. He was smiling ever so slightly, though quite sadly, at Arthur as he looked over his lover's face, gauging the reaction. Arthur, on the other hand, was flushed, his tears having stopped falling and were drying on his cheeks. His lips were slightly parted, and his eyes were still wide open in surprise. _What just...? _Involuntarily, Arthur's left hand had just trailed up, his middle finger grazing his own bottom lip in wonder.

Alfred was a bit faint from the effort. His body hadn't worked this hard in a while, and that small kiss had left him breathless as well. He knew that for his own health, he should get back in bed, but he wasn't sure if he could've even made it back.

Alfred laid his head on Arthur's knees, wanting to stay there for as long as possible until Arthur would swat his head away, which is what he expected the Brit to do when he got out of his stupor. Alfred would take as much advantage of the surprise as he could.

Thus, as much as he wanted to savor in silence this moment, which was very likely to be the last time he saw Arthur ever again, Alfred started talking.

"Arthur, please listen to me. Just once. Please. Then... you can go... I won't stop you." Each word that came out was more pained than the last, partly because each word sent daggers through Alfred's heart, but partly also because he was exhausted, and his body hadn't worked like this in months, and all he wanted to do was sleep... but he had to try. Alfred never gave up.

Arthur had gotten over his surprise and was sitting there, a bit confused. What was Alfred doing, first of all, and second of all, how had he gotten out of bed? The lawyer had just gotten out of a coma, and should definitely not be sitting on the cold ground, out of his blankets. Despite Arthur's anger, which somehow seemed to have disappeared for the moment, the Brit was worried about Alfred's well-being. Why was this guy being so ridiculous? Some _very_ big scheme this was turning out to be.

But that flushed face... and the pain of those words... No one could act that well. Not even lawyers, who were probably the best actors in the world. Arthur could see that Alfred was really in pain, and for some reason was here before him nevertheless. Something wasn't fitting right with the situation.

And thus, Arthur decided to listen. A part of him—a large part of him—thought he might regret staying and listening very much, but another part of him was very curious. It didn't make sense. And Alfred looked like he was in so much pain. _God, this guy doesn't know how to take care of himself, does he?_ Arthur also let Alfred's head lay on his knees, for as much as he had ben angry just a second ago, the feeling was wonderful, just like that kiss. It might be the last time, after all. And Alfred's head was so... warm.

"I... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I know I've been an ass, and the... the things I did... I never treated you well, even when you were my... chauffer... And then I went and fired you, which is a day that has... haunted me... ever since." Alfred coughed a bit and slouched down more, painfully aware of the cold tiles on the ground beneath him. The only heat source he had right now was Arthur's knees and the proximity of the rest of the Brit's body. Funny how even now, just like for the past four years, Arthur was Alfred's source of light, warmth, and strength. The Brit really had no idea what power he held over Alfred, who found it ironic that the reason he ever wanted to become a lawyer was to be powerful and have say over justice. But that was the reason he met Arthur, who ended up making him so powerless.

"I'm sorry. I know no amount of apologizing... will earn me... your forgiveness, but... I can at least... try, right?" Alfred laughed a bit, which turned into a hacking cough for a moment. "And then... I—"

"Stop it."

"What?" Alfred lifted his head from his position and looked up at Arthur. Those green eyes were glaring at him so hard that Alfred fought back the reaction to recoil.

"This is ridiculous. You're going to knock yourself out." Arthur brushed Alfred aside and stood up. Then, without words, Arthur took Alfred by his underarms and lifted the man to bed. Alfred was surprisingly light—unhealthily light. Arthur almost dropped the lawyer in surprise.

Without gentleness, Arthur dropped Alfred on his bed and crossed his arms. "That's for being stupid." Arthur was blushing and looking at the bedside table beside Alfred's bed. He couldn't stand to see Alfred suffer, and that was the truth of it. No matter how much he irrationally yearned for revenge, when it came down to it, any harm that befell Alfred caused him more pain than anything else. It was at this point that Arthur knew his case was hopeless. He would be in love forever, it seemed, no matter what happened. No matter how much he wanted to, he was _incapable_ of leaving the lawyer alone, or caring for the useless man. _What he needed was a full time servant, not a chauffer..._ Arthur thought grimly. He wasn't up to taking over that job.

Alfred was shocked, but that quickly disappeared to be replaced by a soft smile. "Thanks." Being back in bed felt worlds better. He tucked himself in and leaned back, still looking at Arthur.

Meanwhile, Arthur was trying to figure out just what to believe. That kiss had felt so real, and those words had such meaning and sincerity behind it. It was the voice that he remembered from Alfred long ago, before everything went sour. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed it.

Yet, despite all of this, the fact that the man had been down on his knees giving head to Arthur's ex the last time they encountered each other was a bit difficult to ignore. And Alfred hadn't come visit him in the past two and a half years that he was in England. Not even once. _That_ was also a bit difficult to connect together with all of this too. Arthur was wholly confused.

"As I was saying, Arthur," Alfred continued, not noticing the slight shiver that shook Arthur's body as his name was spoken. "I'm sorry. But I tried. For you. I came here, didn't I? I... I know that the last time we saw each other wasn't the best moment for me—"

"No shit."

"But," Alfred went on, unfazed, "I lived through it, didn't I? I was able to endure it all, suffer through it all... just because you were the light at the end of my tunnel."

Arthur kept listening, expecting Alfred to go on. But when the lawyer stopped talking, Arthur tensed up. What the hell was Alfred talking about? Living through what? What suffering was the damn guy going through when he was off cavorting with Ivan, spending their money together on Lexus cars and crap? If anyone knew suffering during that time, it certainly wasn't Alfred and Ivan, Arthur was sure. They already had it made while Arthur still had to live off Ivan's welfare.

"What are you talking about? _You? Suffering? _Please."

Alfred looked down at his sheets, painfully aware of his bandaged body, which had healed much during his months in a coma, but had still not healed enough. What did Arthur think these wounds came from, if not from Ivan? Wasn't it obvious that Alfred had taken for the sake of his love whatever horrors would have been dealt to the Kirklands instead?

"Do you see my hands?"

Arthur didn't know where this was going, but his interest was piqued. Alfred's voice had gone surprisingly low and devoid of emotions. Arthur was forced to step closer just to hear the man, which Alfred took as a prompt to go on.

"They broke my fingers. One at a time. Every bone. One at a time. Then they would bandage it up, wait for it to heal correctly, then do it again."

Arthur was silent for a while, not sure how to take this. He also still wasn't sure what Alfred was talking about either, though he had a sneaking suspicion when he asked, "Who?"

"... _Them_."

Now things really didn't make sense. Weren't Ivan and Alfred dating? Why didn't Alfred just leave if things were so bad? Arthur had tried to escape way before any of that had ever happened. Was Alfred addicted to Ivan's "love" or something, just like Arthur had seen plenty other people suffer through?

"Why? Why didn't you just leave?"

Alfred laughed, a hollow sound. He leaned his head down so that hair covered his eyes and whispered, almost as if to himself. "And break the contract? No matter how much it hurt... Arthur... I couldn't."

"... Contract? Isn't he... your _lover_?" Things were getting sketchier and sketchier, and Arthur was making no headway. With every new question, he hoped to clear things up, but only ended up getting more and more confused.

Alfred looked sharply at Arthur, now realizing what the Brit's earlier comment about a boyfriend meant. His eyes were completely solemn and piercing when he asked, "Is that what you believe?"

"... Well, yes. I mean, the last time we saw each other... you were... you know..."

"For you." Arthur stopped. He was so damn confused that _nothing_ made sense. How could things just get murkier and murkier the more they talked about it? How would getting down and sucking off his ex-husband be for Arthur's sake? He wanted to suspect that this, too, was a cruel joke, but the pain in Alfred's voice was a bit too real.

"I didn't want to ever have to tell you," Alfred continued, "because I didn't want you to... to see how weak I was." Alfred ran a hand through his hair, laughing slightly at how pathetic his high and mighty lawyer self seemed now. This bushy-eyebrowed man before him had brought Alfred to his knees—albeit literally, and for another man, at that.

"I don't understand."

Alfred sighed. He was going to have to explain and risk getting ridiculed, wasn't he? Spending your time as someone's fuck toy for two years was embarrassing enough. Now he was going to have to tell his love about it too. But Alfred could see no way around it.

"Sit down," he requested, more for his own sake than Arthur's. He couldn't stand being this close to Arthur while he laid his life bare, putting his deepest and darkest secrets on the table for the most important person in his life to examine. The chair was over there, by the window. Far away enough to give Alfred the necessary space, and close enough for Arthur to be able to hear.

"But I—"

"Please."

Arthur complied, utterly vexed, and sat down. What he heard next was most probably the most unexpected and extraordinary thing he had ever listened to in his life.

* * *

Arthur hadn't interrupted Alfred at all as he told his story, beginning to end, starting from the day Ivan had contacted him with an interest in having him as lawyer. Alfred went through the days when he searched endlessly for Arthur, and how he felt about having to prosecute against the Brit. He wanted Arthur to know his views on the matter, to see how much he tried, just with the hope that maybe Arthur would start to forgive him.

Alfred explained through his plan to infiltrate and buy Peter, offhandedly naming the price he had paid, which dropped Arthur's jaw, but Alfred continued past like it was nothing at all. And within the frame of reference of Alfred's next few years, it really wasn't much; the lawyer would pay a much higher price than that, day after day, for two and a half years.

The lawyer didn't go into gory detail about the horrors he experienced as part of his eight-year contract, but Arthur could have guessed perfectly fine, now that he knew what all those injuries on the doctor's report had come from. Alfred had been so badly abused that the doctors were almost positive he wasn't going to make it. They had also told Arthur that judging by the looks of things, this wasn't the first time Alfred had been in such a bad state or had been bleeding this much—something which Arthur didn't understand until now.

They had whipped Alfred, had chained him up upside down for days, burned him with candles, let fifty men and women loose on him, nearly drowned him, left vibrators in him for hours on end... God. The horrors were unimaginable to Arthur, which was saying something, because he had seen and suffered through quite a bit—or so he thought—at Ivan's hands.

And when Ivan had forced Alfred to get a tattoo, the Russian had given Alfred the choice of what he wanted to get, but had made clear that if Ivan wasn't happy about it, Alfred would be sorely punished. Alfred was vague about what the tattoo was when he told Arthur the story, but he did let Arthur know that Ivan had unleashed a great deal of rage upon the hapless lawyer when he learned of what it was.

Moving on quickly, Alfred went on to the more recent years. Ivan became more and more violent, Alfred was penetrated by more things more often, and his will was starting to dim. It was actually during a party of two hundred people, during which Alfred had been tied up and left open to the public, that Alfred had passed out too fast and Ivan had whipped Alfred senseless later on. The Russian was manic, and broke Alfred in many places, punching him and punishing him for having "failed his master's expectations." One of the last things Alfred remembered was Ivan's sneer as he gazed upon Alfred's broken body and said, "You're such a bore nowadays, шалава. I think it's time we get rid of you... How about we send you to your precious little Arthur? See how he reacts now that you are nothing but a dirty хуесос." And in a voice that was fading in strength as much as his eyes were fading in vision, Alfred had limply pleaded that Ivan do anything but that. Kill him even, but don't let Arthur see him in such a state.

He didn't remember anything else but waking up in the hospital. Arthur suspected after all of this that Ivan or his workers had kept Alfred bleeding the whole way there, right to Arthur's doorstep. _Sick bastards..._

"But you know," Alfred wrapped up, his pride and heart already broken. There was no way that Arthur could still love him or even look at him after this story. He was soiled ground. "The only thing that kept me alive was thinking about you. I knew. I _knew_... I had to see you again. I had to see you... and tell you... I love you."

And then there was silence. Arthur said nothing, and was very much lost in his thoughts. After two and a half years of believing something, it was hard to just suddenly change your opinions. But Arthur wholeheartedly believed Alfred. Part of him wanted to jump on the story, just because it would make his love so much more easy to swallow. He would then be loving a true gentleman—the best man he had ever had the pleasure to meet, rather than some arse who had betrayed him for his ex. That story was so much better to deal with than the reality that Arthur had believed for the past two years.

But more so than about his own trouble with the suddenness and extraordinary nature of the story, Arthur worried about Alfred. "Touched" was very much an understatement for how Arthur felt. This broken man before him had given up so much to protect Arthur, and now Arthur felt like an arse himself for having yelled at Alfred and treated him so cruelly, for having told Alfred the last time they met that the lawyer had meant nothing to him, which had been a lie. But Alfred didn't know that, and he had lived with that misconception throughout those years of torture, all the while still loving Arthur himself, despite all of that.

_Lord how the tables have turned..._

This must have been what Peter had been trying to tell him too, Arthur realized. _Damn it. I should have listened._ Arthur hated how selfish he had been. He had no idea, of course. He couldn't have. This story was so damn outlandish that Arthur could not have made it up even if he tried. And he wouldn't have believed it either, had it not been for Alfred's tone, which was enough to break Arthur's heart by itself.

Now Arthur was the one that needed to apologize, and he had no idea how to. Alfred had been willing to endure _eight years_ of this stuff, just for Peter and Arthur's safety. The man's career was dashed, Ivan having made up a scandalous story that ensured Alfred would never reach such fame again. Everything Alfred had ever known, his riches, his fame, his beloved job, heck, his own pride—was gone. Thrown down the drain. Kicked to the curb. Fucked to oblivion.

And it had been all for Arthur.

The Brit thought that such sacrifices were made only in the movies. He never thought that in his crazy life, he'd ever meet somebody that would be willing to go through such for his sake—and then actually be _forced_ to go through all that stuff and stay true to his word. People said sweet stuff like "I'll do anything for you" or "I'll jump in front of a bullet for you" all the time, but rarely did people have to actually _do it. _Alfred, on the other hand, had never said that even once, and had been content to keep the knowledge to himself for the rest of his life.

This morning, Arthur had thought that the lawyer didn't deserve such a good guy as the Brit was, but now he realized that it was very much the other way around. He had never done that much for Alfred. He hadn't even thought about it, having been too angry and scornful to care.

Arthur inwardly sighed. How was he going to explain himself and what he called "love," which was so much... smaller in light of what Alfred seemed to feel?

Alfred, on the other hand, thought that he'd be crying by now, but he wasn't. He was just feeling a profound sadness within his heart. Arthur had been silent for quite a while, and he could feel the emptiness in the room. The Brit was avoiding looking at Alfred, and that made Alfred sadder than anything else.

_Of course_, he reminded himself, y_ou knew this was going to happen. How could he still look at you when all you've been doing is whoring while he's been living his proper life?_ Alfred felt disgusted with himself. He hated his broken body, not because it was once beautiful to others, but because it was once something Arthur had been willing to look at. Now he didn't even have that to his name.

Ivan must have known this was going to happen, much like Alfred had seen it coming. Nevertheless, knowing something was going to happen didn't dampen the pain at all when it actually did occur. It's like sitting by an ailing loved one's bedside for their last few weeks, every day. You knew they were going to die, but when they did, it still tore up your heart just that much, and you still shed the same tears the same way.

"I—" Alfred started, not able to take much more of Arthur's disgust.

There was a knock at the door. Both of them looked up, not expecting anyone. A nurse walked in, completely oblivious to the tension, and told Alfred that there was a phone call from him from someone by the name of Ivan Braginski, a man who had sounded very worried.

Arthur sucked in his breath, and Alfred's eyes widened. The lawyer started shaking a bit, but he reached for the phone nevertheless. His master never liked being kept waiting.

Alfred picked up the phone and tentatively put it to his ear. Arthur stood up slightly, not sure if answering the phone was a good idea. He should stop Alfred before anything else bad happened. In fact, if anyone was less traumatized between the two of them at Ivan's hands, much to Arthur's dismay, it was probably the Brit.

"Don—"

"Hello?" Alfred asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Hello, дорогая. I hear you've woken up..." The voice was loud enough on the receiver for the both of them to hear. "How do you feel? Probably a little sore, right?" The tone was light and joking, which was such a jarring contrast to the mood of the room. The tension was thicker than cold fog on early fishing port mornings in winter.

"I see you've gotten a chance to talk to little Arthur over there about our little deal... You haven't finished your contract yet, you know. And I absolutely _hate_ people who back out of their promises."

Arthur glanced at Alfred, and could see that the man had visibly paled, making his still red wounds and cuts even more noticeable. _No... no. No way. _There was no way that Arthur was going to let Alfred go back and take five and a half more years of that sick shit. But before he could say anything, he heard Alfred's voice reply.

"I know... владелец." Arthur panicked. What was happening? Why was Alfred replying in such a calm voice, despite all of his shaking and the fear in his eyes?

"I have a ticket for you to fly back in a week to La Guardia. You're going to come back to me, right, моя маленькая игрушка?"

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when his eyes met Alfred's, who had finally looked up at the Brit. Those eyes held what Arthur imagined was the collective sadness of a whole extinct species or a lost and forgotten race. The sadness ran deep, felt ancient, and, most of all, felt hopeless. Alfred didn't expect things to change, and had resigned. His goal had been reached. He had found Arthur, told Arthur his feelings, and saw that Arthur didn't reciprocate like he said he did. Arthur might have loved the Alfred from long ago, but the current broken, damaged and dirty one was one that the Brit couldn't even look at.

Alfred smiled vaguely, which made the expression so much more painful to see.

"Alfred?" the phone asked, sounding vaguely threatening now. But it was unnecessary. Alfred was ready to go back. He had done what he needed to do. The light at the end of the tunnel had been reached, and all that came from here on out would be bonus life that he didn't care whether he lived through or not.

"Yes," Alfred breathed out, shivering. "I'll be there."

Arthur was dumbfounded. What the hell was he hearing? After getting out of a coma because of his abuse, Alfred was now willingly going back to experience more? The lawyer could get killed next time. Arthur's mind was working furiously. This was _not_ how it was going to end.

"I'm so happy to hear," the voice on the phone spoke. Alfred could hear the sinister smile as clearly as his memory forced him to see it. "I will leave the tick—"

"NO!" Arthur interrupted, standing up fully and storming over to the phone. "No. No. No. No. No. No." Before Alfred could react, the Brit snatched the phone out of his hand, not that it made a difference in hearing. They both could still hear the loud phone speaker from their positions. It was more a statement of who was going to control this side of the conversation from here on out. Arthur felt that Alfred must have still been affected by his coma or something. No sane man would ever go back.

Well, at least that option was a lot easier to bear than the one he knew was definitely the truth: Alfred loved him enough to go back practically without hesitation nor tears, despite his suffering. It was more than Arthur could bear, and selfishly, he wanted Alfred here with him. The guy sure was headstrong and useless sometimes.

Arthur turned his back on Alfred when he heard the former lawyer's protesting noises and focused on the phone instead, over which he could hear the light sinister laughter that belonged to the man he feared most. If it was anyone other than Alfred (and Peter), Arthur would never stand up to Ivan. But in this instance, he felt no fear. Just anger.

"Oh? Is that you, my Arthur?"

Arthur glared at the ground and did something he hadn't done in a very, very long time. He spoke Russian.

"заткнись, ублюдок." His accent was terrible, and somehow his Russian sounded posh and British too, but it was understandable Russian nevertheless.

Alfred's eyes widened, and his protests temporarily stopped. He had never known that Arthur could speak Russian, though it made sense when the former lawyer thought about it. Arthur and Ivan had met while Arthur was doing business in Russia, after all, as Alfred had found out back in the day when he was Ivan's lawyer rather than his plaything.

But Alfred had never known that Russian could sound so good and so sexy...

Ivan, on the other hand, was having a kick out of the situation. He was laughing so hard on the other side. It was very interesting that he had finally found something that could make Arthur speak Russian again. It was a sound that he fondly remembered, back in the day when they used to whisper sweet nothings to each other as Arthur was chained to the bed... Ah, the good old days.

"Рад снова тебя видеть," the Russian replied with glee. This conversation just got more and more interesting.

And thus, for the forty minutes, they held a conversation purely in Russian. Arthur was heated, while Ivan kept laughing. At one point, Ivan got serious and said something that Alfred guessed might have been a very good threat, based on Arthur's reaction, but the Brit replied quickly with something that made Ivan laugh even more sinisterly.

They were talking fast, and as the conversation went on, Arthur's Russian became faster and faster. It was coming back to him now, in chunks here and there, and things started to flow more. He was letting Ivan know that Alfred was his. There was no way Ivan could take that from him. Couldn't Ivan just leave them alone?

Ivan asked how Arthur expected to pay for the loss of one of Ivan's main attractions. Was Arthur going to come back instead? It would be fun to switch between Arthur and Alfred like this. Maybe they should just both come back. It wouldn't cost much to buy another ticket.

Arthur made a sound of disgust and continued on, saying that he would start by refusing all of Ivan's welfare. He didn't need it. Ivan replied cooly that if the contract breaks, that was going to happen already. And also that Arthur, Alfred and Peter would be fair game for any "accidents" as well.

Arthur sighed, arguing that Ivan must be tired of them by now. Just find someone else, and leave them alone, he had pleaded, though he knew that it wouldn't work. Ivan's heart just didn't work that way.

After another ten minutes, now nearly an hour of Russian, Arthur abruptly hung up the phone. Alfred had missed it, but somewhere in there, the conversation had ended. Arthur released a massive breath of relief. He had managed to strike a deal. He would be off of Ivan's welfare, and would actually give Ivan a pretty large chunk of his own paycheck every year for the rest of his life for the Russian to leave them alone. Ivan obviously didn't need the money, but he did like the idea of Arthur working for his benefit, knowing that every time, with his explicit instructions, Arthur would have to hand write the check and mail it off. Every month until he died. The thought made Ivan so gleeful—and better yet, it had been Arthur who had suggested the option. As Ivan suspected, his little English love still knew how to please him. Of course, Ivan would have preferred it that the both were just his slaves, but as he thought about it, the thought of indirect long term enslavement through check writing seemed like an entertaining idea as well. It would be something new they tried. After all, Ivan had plenty of sex slaves already. Thus, the conversation ended.

Thoroughly confused, Alfred opened his mouth to ask what had happened when Arthur whirled around on him, finger right at the former lawyer's nose.

"Don't you _dare_ do that to me again."

"Do wha—"

"I know I may not have a right to control your life or have a say in it, but don't my opinions matter to you?!" Arthur threw his hands up in the air in an exasperated manner. "Idiot!" He crossed his arms. "Why did you do that? _Didn't you just tell me you loved me? _And then you're so quick to leave!" Arthur knew his implied accusations were unfounded. He suspected that he knew full well the real reason behind it all, and just couldn't shoulder all the guilt. _How weak you are,_ he thought bitterly._  
_

"I..." Alfred began. He looked away, back to his bandaged hands. "I... I was killing two birds with one stone. Lawyers are... good at multitasking, right?" He laughed a little at his own joke, but continued on when all he felt were anger vibes from Arthur. "The contract... keeps you safe... And you don't want me... anymore, anyways... Not after that story. You... you wouldn't even look at me."

Alfred's voice was breaking a bit. _So this is where the tears come in._ "I know... I know I've been degraded... hurt... humiliated and broken... but... I just thought... maybe..." He was flailing for words. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry you had to fall for someone so... used and dirty..." Alfred made no sound as the first tear dripped down his cheek. God was he a poor excuse for a man.

Arthur fell down to his knees beside Alfred's bed, because that was the only angle from which he could see the lawyer's face. Honestly, Alfred really _was_ too good for Arthur. All the sacrifices already, and the man had been willing to die. They both knew it. Arthur didn't feel like he deserved that much love.

"How can you think that, stupid?" Arthur asked, blushing. "You're... you're just as handsome as you've always been... if not, more so." There, he said it. It sounded so cheesy, but it was true. Arthur laid his head down beside Alfred's hand, looking at the layers and layers of bandages, knowing that he had indirectly caused this to happen. "Please... stay with me." Arthur had never begged like this before in his life, unless it was insincere foreplay back in the day with Ivan. But this was honest, from the bottom of his heart. He couldn't let Alfred go. "I worked it out with Ivan. So please."

"Aren't you disgusted? I don't want your pity..."

"You're not getting pity. You're brave... and wonderful, and you love me more than I think anyone ever should... I don't deserve _you_, you idiot. And yet I'll be here, just because you can't seem to take care of yourself." It was a little joke, but neither of them laughed.

"Arthur..."

"You know, for someone who's hurt, you sure can talk a lot."

"Don't change the—"

"I'm not. It's already decided." Arthur stood up, brushed himself off, and sat down on the edge of Alfred's bed. The Brit pulled Alfred's chin to face him, so that they could make eye contact that Alfred, who was under this _ridiculous_ misconception, could see that Arthur loved him all the more for his sacrifices. "I love you." Arthur leaned in and kissed the lawyer, who had seen it coming, but was still surprised when it actually happened.

"And I'm never letting you go."

* * *

Author's Comments:

Hey! I hope you guys liked this chapter. I wrote the majority of it today in about five hours (that might seem like a long time to you, but it takes a lot to be able to think about the emotions, feel them, and then put them into words in a coherent way. I can't just be like, "and all those emotions (which Galythia hasn't named) spilled out of Arthur all in the same way and in the same manner. The end." You know?

So I'm sorry for the wait, but I hope you guys liked this chapter. Ivan was a bit tough to wrap up, I have to say, and I know it was a pathetic ending for Ivan, but I really can't think of better. I think it's realistic that he would have been happy about it. I honestly think so. What do you guys think?

It has been quite an adventure, though, hasn't it? Three years? Thanks for sticking with me, those who have known this from the beginning of its tiny existence. Thanks for picking up old things and giving them new chances, those who have just discovered this for their first time. You all have made my life much more interesting than it would have been otherwise, and I hope to say that I have been able to do the same for you, if only a little.

There should be an epilogue to this story, to wrap everything up and let you know how our cast is faring a few years from now. When do you guys want the epilogue to be set? What time would be most interesting to you? Old age, a few years from now, twenty years from now? Please let me know!

After this fic, I'm going to be writing two more USxUK fics, having gotten back into this fandom and that pairing:

1. Revolutionary times fic with Arthur and Alfred as commanders of their relative countries. I can't ever draw them as countries, and can only think of them as people, so they will definitely be people. Lots of promised angst. This one is also looking to be a long 'un. Please read if you're interested! Although I warn you that I haven't closely studied the revolution since AP US History sophomore year of high school (three years ago), so if there are some inaccuracies, please forgive me. I write more for the characters and their interactions than keeping track of what armies were where during 1777. So be forewarned.

2. This is a totally AU fic that's set in Victorian England. Alfred's actually a noble in this one, his father English and his mother American. His father has been harping on him about marriage, and he isn't interested in women, men, or settling down. He just wants to live his free bachelor life goofing around. So what does he do? He hires Arthur, a young actor who has been working at a theatre Alfred frequents, to act as his fiance. You know how it goes from there. There's definitely some angst in this too (you know I love it), but it's bound to be shorter than the Revolutionary War fic (I think).

These two probably will be written in parallel, so that if I don't have muse for one, there's at least hope that I have muse for the other, you know? But as always, if either of these sound interesting to you, please read and comment when they come out!

I love you guys so much! Hope you've had as much fun reading as I have been writing. I'll see some of you soon in the next fic anyways, right? =]

Best,  
Galythia


	28. Epilogue

**On Better Terms**

Epilogue

* * *

Commentary from the Hetalia Gallery

**Alfred: **Arthur, I... umm...

**Arthur: **What? _What? _Don't you _dare _corroborate with this story!

**Alfred: **But... I... ever since the Revolution, I've been...

**Arthur: **I'm not listening. Not listening!

**Alfred: **I've been filled with regret, Arthur... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I—

**Arthur: **NOT LISTENING. NOTLISTENINGNOTLISTENINGNOTL ISTENING!

**Alfred: **Arthur! Just let me say my apology...

**Arthur: **... _ *just the slightest bit hopeful, in all honestly*

**Alfred: **I'm sorry that I... I...

**Arthur: **Yes...?

**Alfred: **That I've never... told you how ridiculous you looked in the 70's!

**Arthur: **... YOU IDIOT!

**Alfred: **Hahahahaha you should see your face!

**Francis: **Were you expecting something else, mon cher?

**Arthur: **N-n-no! What kind of evil thoughts are you—? ARGH.

**Francis:** I can give you what no other man can... Even Alfred.

**Alfred:** I don't know, Francis. Have you ever experienced me _in full_?

**Francis: **I wouldn't be averse to finding out...

**Arthur: **SHUT UP. ALL OF YOU. I can't—I'm leaving!

* * *

Arthur looked at the clock, anticipating 5:30 like he did everyday with such intensity that he seemed to be waiting for the prime minister himself to come walking through the front door. Well, to Arthur, the man he was waiting for was far more important than the prime minister; the man was his lover, Alfred F. Jones. They had been lovers for four years already, and the light between them had never even dimmed. Every day that Arthur woke up to find Alfred's face snoring next to him was as unbelievable as the next. He found that it was pretty difficult to get out of bed in the morning these past years.

The Brit smiled as he observed the door, sipping his tea. They worked different hours, which meant that their time together usually came at night. Arthur left in the morning, after making a breakfast for Alfred that the former lawyer always tried his best to eat, but had never even made it halfway through before deciding it was best to hit the convenience store on the way to work.

Arthur was still a taxi driver. He found that he was actually pretty good at talking and listening to customers―a skill which he had developed from his days as a bartender. And his customers went to such interesting places that his work was always full of surprises every day. It also gave him a good chance to research places to go with Alfred and Peter while still getting paid for it.

Arthur would then get home at 3:00 and do his daily cleaning of the house. He'd gotten back into reading British classics, now that he had the time to do so. Like he had promised himself, he had bought a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets and had reread them. It was funny how much more Shakespeare made sense after living thirty-one years of his life.

Alfred, on the other hand, worked a regular 9-5 workday as a salesman, and he was quickly gaining popularity with the corporations. The good thing was that here in England, few people have heard about the famous lawyer Alfred F. Jones, which meant that Al could start fresh. He no longer wanted to be a lawyer; British laws were too stupid and crazy, he had said, though Arthur knew that Al still hurt about that custody lawsuit, and he would never allow himself that much power for destruction again.

Alfred made more money than Arthur, but neither of them seemed to mind. After all, Ivan got 70% of Arthur's paycheck, but none of Alfred's. It was a nice loophole when discovered, and Ivan seemed to have moved on to some other interests quickly, so the man didn't actually seem to care. Although he still cared enough that Arthur knew if he actually stopped working, Ivan would have his arse for it; thus it was nice to have found a job that he actually enjoyed.

When the clock struck 5:30, Arthur was practically quivering with anticipation. Today was the four year anniversary of the day they became a couple, which had been the day after Ivan had made that call to the hospital. Alfred had shooed Peter out of the room, who left with a knowing smile, pulled Arthur over, and gave him direct and earnest kiss. Then the former asked the now flustered Brit officially to be his boyfriend. No hesitation.

Arthur had stammered out something about Alfred being an idiot and how it was obvious he would have said yes anyways, so why ask? But inwardly, he had been wondering what would happen to them anyways, and was glad that Alfred not only had the same idea, but had taken the first move as well. Arthur sucked at that type of stuff.

For this special day, Arthur hadn't planned anything specific. He just wanted to savor it with the man he loved most―well, aside from Peter, but that was a different story. The kid was off at university having the time of his life. He occasionally called Arthur and Alfred to give them updates on his life, which involved a lot of partying and hanging out. Of course the kid―Arthur would never stop seeing his little brother as a kid―worked hard, but he definitely knew how to let loose―a trait he _definitely_ didn't get from Arthur.

Peter had even gotten a girlfriend. She was a very soft spoken yet highly adorable girl (Arthur had only seen pictures) who hailed from Seychelles. Peter promised that some day he'd take her to visit, when he was more sure that Arthur and Alfred wouldn't scare her away with their lovey-dovey selves―and when Arthur would stop scaring Peter with the notion of a home-cooked dinner to welcome her.

Arthur finished his cup of tea and stood up to pour another one when he heard the lock click. He left the teacup forgotten on the counter as he dashed to the door. He wanted to greet Alfred straight off with a kiss, even though the idiot probably forgot what day it was.

Opening the door, the words "welcome home" almost made it out of his smiling mouth when he realized that it _wasn't_ Alfred at the door, but just some taxi driver. Arthur's face fell. It wasn't somebody he knew from work, so who was the guy, and what was he doing here? And why wasn't Alfred home yet?

"Uh... hi," Arthur started, hoping that the disappointment didn't show through in his voice. "Can I... uh... help you?"

The taxi driver smiled slightly and asked, "Are you Arthur Kirkland?"

"... Yes." Arthur's heart was beating a bit fast. This seemed like something straight out of Ivan's playbook. The Russian had left them alone for a while, now. Was the agreement being reneged or something? _God please don't let it be that. Especially today._

"Great!" the taxi driver replied. "I'm here with a message from one Alfred F. Jones." Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, though now his heart was beating quickly for another reason altogether. "He said..." The man pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and read it verbatim. "Arthur, I'm sorry I'm late. Something came up. But if you follow this nice taxi driver, he'll take you to me instead." The taxi driver chuckled sheepishly at having been called "nice."

Arthur was a bit sad and confused. It wasn't like he'd been planning anything anyways, but of all the days for Alfred to get held up at work, it had to be today? Couldn't the guy just push it off until tomorrow? Or had Alfred really forgotten...? Then man had never been good with days, after all. He could never remember that Independence Day wasn't celebrated with pride in England, for example.

The Brit sighed and grabbed his coat, a bit hurt that Alfred had forgotten. Peter had even given him a call about an hour ago to wish them a happy anniversary. How could the boy remember, even when this wasn't even his relationship? _Sheesh_. Well, at least he could spend it with Alfred, even if it was at work. Although there wasn't much one could do at work under others' watchful gazes.

The taxi driver was a bit bemused as to why Arthur suddenly looked so dejected. People usually don't invite others to their work when they were late; they usually just gave a call and apologized. So sending a cab to pick the other up was above and beyond the call of duty. What was there to be sad about? Customers could be so weird sometimes.

Arthur got into the back seat of the taxi as they drove off. He marked off the street names as he passed them, to try to distract himself from his sadness. He didn't have a right to be sad, and he knew it. Alfred was working hard to support them, and, luckily for them, the man was brilliant when it came to sales. Arthur knew that he was luckier than most to be in such a functioning and successful relationship as part of a gradually improving life. But part of him was still stubborn, and that part of him was a bit pissed that the idiot had forgotten.

They passed Dunham Road, which is where Arthur would have made a right turn had he himself been driving to Alfred's office. It was the fastest way, and there were no detour notices. Maybe this taxi driver was new.

"Turning back there would have been faster," Arthur voiced.

"Sir, I have directions from Mr. Jones himself. He said to make a left at Elmwood next."

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. Elmwood? That didn't make sense. That was in a completely different direction.

"Are you sure?"

"Yessir! Don't worry. We'll be there in a few minutes."

Arthur was completely perplexed. They were headed right into the main London area, though on the other side of the working districts from where Alfred's office building was. Had Alfred moved offices and not told Arthur? If that were the case, Arthur would be a bit more than just a little pissed and dejected.

When they turned on to Old Broad Street, Arthur was officially very confused, especially when they seemed to be nearing Tower 42. Alfred couldn't have moved to working in Tower 42. That would have been completely and utterly _ridiculous_, and knowing that loud mouth, there would have been no way he could have hid such exciting news from Arthur—right? Did they not have that sort of trust or something, especially after all that they've been through?

Arthur shook his head, clearing away the doubt. There was no question in his head that Alfred loved him... well, sort of. The man was just so brilliant and attractive that Arthur had always felt he never deserved Alfred. Alfred was the epitome of a caring (albeit obnoxious) gentleman. Arthur wasn't especially attractive or intelligent. He was just your average Brit—which he believed at least made him a whole step better than the average American, but that was another story all together. But Alfred was no average American. He was stunning and spectacular and all around wonderful. Thus, this wasn't the first time that Arthur had wondered why Alfred had settled for him when there were so many smarter and better men and women to choose from.

The taxi driver let Arthur off right in front of Tower 42 and said that the last bit of the instructions said for the Brit to go up to the twenty-fourth floor. That was it. Arthur tried to pay for the fare, but the taxi driver also informed him that that was already taken care of, with plenty left over, which he tried to give back to Arthur. The Brit chuckled and told the man to keep the change, remembering fondly of his first encounter with Alfred so long ago. The man hadn't changed much in some respects.

Arthur tentatively walked in to Tower 42. Luckily, his normal dress—consisting of a sweater, a dress shirt, a nice black wool jacket, and slacks—wasn't too informal, but he still felt completely underdressed when he saw the expensive Armani suits and blouses that everyone else in the building seemed to be wearing. Sheesh, was this building made of money or something? The only passengers Arthur had ever dropped off there were well off businessmen, smart looking business women, and a slew of people all with the same shrewd money-making look in their eyes. The Brit was _completely_ out of place here.

Nevertheless, he did exactly what the note had told him to do, trusting in the fact that it would be Alfred, and not another of Ivan's devious plans. The man had left them alone long enough, and honestly, the note being from Alfred was a much more swallowable tale; Arthur didn't even want to think about the other possibility—and so, he didn't.

The Englishman took off his jacket and put it through the security checkpoint as he walked through the scanner. If nothing else, the fact that Tower 42 had a security checkpoint in the first place was a testament to just how much Arthur felt out of place. He had never been through any other security checkpoint (voluntarily) except for the ones at airports, and that was hardly a formal affair.

The Brit did as he was told and stood by the elevator, waiting for it to arrive. He didn't know what was on the twenty-fourth floor, but it was bound to be expensive, judging by the looks of everything else. To be honest, Arthur was a bit scared. Anyone else would have thought all of this fanfare was some sort of surprise celebration for their anniversary, but come on. This was Arthur. He was terrified that Alfred had finally realized just how much of a difference there was between them, and was breaking up with him or something. It wasn't that Arthur thought Alfred didn't love him; no, the love was plain enough. But sometimes love wasn't all it took, and there still needed to be some practicality. After all, who wanted to live life as the breadwinner for some decent looking, frumpy, of average intelligence man with overly large eyebrows and a terribly inability to even cook? Arthur wasn't good for much with his taxi driving job and his cleaning around at home. Alfred didn't even like tea that much either, very much preferring coke or coffee—with a cream and two sugars—to the mild tasting "stale" drink. Thus, there wasn't even much Arthur felt he could do for their relationship except keep the man's bed warm at night—but anyone could do that and so much more.

Arthur swallowed audibly as he got out of the elevator, everyone else having exited by the time he reached his floor. As he stepped out of the elevator, Arthur felt like he was in a different world. The whole floor was a restaurant, and all the people there made it seem like a black tie affair. Arthur's usually warm and nice slacks felt oddly uncomfortable at the moment. No one seemed to be paying him any attention, and he was glad for it... except for the one problem of not knowing what to do from then. He barely wanted to move, not wanting to attract any attention to himself—but standing in front of the elevator like a statue was bound to attract some gazes eventually as well.

Thus, the Brit walked up to who he assumed was the maitre d' and sheepishly played with the edge of his cardigan as he stammered out, "I... uhh... Alfred F. Jones told me to come here?" He knew it sounded stupid; he would be completely weirded out if someone came up to him at a restaurant he worked at and said that statement. It made Arthur seemed like he was lost in life or something. It was damn embarrassing.

The maitre d' seemed to know the name and her eyes lit up immediately. "This way please, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur was surprised. Dropping Alfred's name seemed to do something. In Alfred's previous rich life, such a fact would have been no surprise, but Alfred wasn't a top of the line lawyer at the moment, and his paycheck now hardly even came close to the one he once had. How did he manage to swing something at such a swanky place called—Arthur had read the name on the maitre d' stand—Rhodes Twenty Four. The name was one of those that sounded so vague that it actually sounded rich and famous, frequented only by superstars or something.

The Brit followed the maitre d' silently, past some curious eyes. Arthur knew it was probably because of the way he was dressed. He stuck out like a sore thumb. And if this was somehow, miraculously, Alfred's new "crowd," then it reminded Arthur all the more how much he didn't belong—here, or in any picture beside the handsome man. He wanted to belong, and when Alfred held him, he was in his most peaceful state. It was utter bliss. It was just that in the eyes of the public, which was important if Alfred were to rise up further and become more successful. Heck, even being in a gay relationship made that difficult in the corporate world, where people still expected you to have a wife to entertain guests. If it wasn't bad enough that Arthur was a man, he also couldn't cook and sucked at entertaining people "of higher stature" than him. Arthur had always had that complex.

Arthur was led into a room at the back to the left. The maitre d' held the door for him, then disappeared once he had entered. Arthur was in the process of taking off his coat when he realized just where he was. It was a small and cozy room, but it had plenty of space for one or two people. There was a round table to one side, with two chairs, and some candles casting a warm light across the rest of the space. Beside the table was another smaller one, on top of which sat an ice bucket cooling a bottle of red wine. The other side had a black, extremely comfortable looking couch, which faced the main centerpiece of it all: the window. The wall was completely glass, from top to bottom, and for good reason; the view out was spectacular. Arthur almost dropped his coat to the floor, and only caught himself enough to quickly hang it up before making brisk pace to the window.

Palms pressed against the clear, recently-polished glass, Arthur felt like a boy again. He remembered that regular sized windows used to look so vast from such a small perspective, and he used to be able to imagine himself standing on the sky when he was looking out from a high enough window. Such pleasures had disappeared ever since puberty, and he had missed those days. Thus, it was a highly pleasant surprise to be faced with a window so vast that he could experience the same feeling again. Alfred always knew what to do to make Arthur happy, even though Arthur had never told anyone about his window experiences.

The Brit didn't know how much time had passed as he stared out the window, speechless. The Gherkin stood out as usual, with its beautifully unique architecture; the other skyscrapers, scattered here and there, made the whole view so magical and royal, especially since everything else tended to be of a much lower height, with nothing much in between. Arthur had only seen London like this when he was looking out of a plane from Heathrow, and even then, Heathrow was too far out to see details like the Gherkin in its majestic beauty. The sun was just setting too, bathing the whole scene in a swarth of warm and rich pink and orange hues. Somewhere in his mind, the setting sun made Arthur guess that it was probably six.

The Brit was pulled out of his admiration and thoughts by the sound of the door clicking. He hadn't even remembered that he was in a foreign place, having been completely lost in the view. But now he was pulled back into reality, which was always worse than his dreams. In his dreams, Alfred could be proud to show him off, and he could boast about him to his colleagues. In reality, Arthur sometimes found himself wishing he was born a woman, or that society didn't have to care so much about how others lived their marriages and love lives. Heck, it was 2012, and gay marriage still wasn't legal in Great Britain? What made Britain so great then?—Because with its history, the reason definitely doesn't involve acceptance of social change.

Arthur didn't turn around, expecting it to be some waiter or something checking quickly if the room was occupied or something, then closing the door and being on his merry way. Thus, the Brit jumped when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry I'm late," a velvet voice spoke from behind him, sending shivers all the way down his body. Maybe all lawyers and ex-lawyers had that ability to make your hairs stand on end from just a few words. Maybe this was the secret to winning all those cases.

Arthur calmed down and crossed his own in mock frumpery. "At least half an hour late. And you _dragged_ me all the way here to boot." The question was evident in Arthur's words: why?_  
_

Alfred ignored the silent question, and instead let go of Arthur's shoulder, much to the latter's disappointment. Arthur turned around to protest at the lack of even a decent hug, only being stopped mid-speech at the sight of his lover. There Alfred was before him, dressed in a full suit. We weren't talking just any old work suit; we were talking full vest and everything, looking like it came from Gieves & Hawkes itself. This was the whole shebang. It was something Arthur hadn't even known Alfred owned, which was a damn difficult feat to pull off, considering Arthur did all the laundry of the house.

"You thirsty?" Alfred asked, pouring Arthur and himself some wine. The decor of the room along with the setting on the table was pretty simple, which made it all the more grand when compared to the view. Nothing would take away from that view, not even the wine glasses.

"Uh... yeah," Arthur replied, not sure as to why Alfred was so dressed up, or why he was being so secretive about it all. The Brit walked over to the table and took a sip from his glass before asking, "So... what happened at work?" _to make you late for our anniversary?_ Arthur wasn't angry, per se... He was just a bit testy, since the day was so special for him. Arthur treasured Alfred and Peter beyond anything else, and his whole life revolved around this handsome ex-lawyer. Every piece of laundry he lovingly folded, every touch he silently treasured, and every picture he carefully stowed away. It was amazing how much one person could dig himself into another's life, but Arthur didn't mind. Alfred was his everything, and that was all right by him.

"Nothing much," Alfred replied nonchalantly.

Arthur inwardly scowled. What type of a reply was that? If the guy was late, the least he could do is give a good reason for it—unless, of course, Alfred didn't remember, which seemed more and more likely at the moment. Arthur was very much confused, because the whole dinner and suit thing sure _seemed _like it was something important, but the way that Alfred was acting made it seem like any other day—if not even colder than usual.

_Shit_. Alfred wouldn't be going through all this, making Arthur comfortable and everything, just to break up, would he? _Would he_? Arthur didn't think so, but now that he saw the suit and the building and all that stuff, he realized that there was a lot Arthur still didn't know, like where did the money for this come from? It's true that Alfred dealt with their financials, but Arthur knew what Alfred's paycheck was, and with their grocery expenses and rent, etc., there was no way this was easily affordable.

The Brit opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Alfred's face lit up. "Ah, dinner!" he said, not with the bright boyishness that he usually greeted food, but with a sort of high-class British reserved sort of way, like an earl entertaining his guests. _What was wrong with Alfred?_ The more Arthur saw Alfred, the more he worried that something was wrong. What happened to the vaguely boyish side that was part of the man's appeal? Where did that messy hair or loud laughter go? And most importantly, why hadn't Alfred kissed him yet?

All thoughts temporarily disappeared from his mind when he laid eyes on the food, though. He had seldom seen such magnificence before, especially when what he usually encountered everyday was his own cooking. As the waiter was setting dishes down on the table, he described each and every one with exquisite detail: there was the filo crusted lamb with the butter bean puree, the glazed lobster omelette thermidor, the slow cooked hake with the caviar butter sauce, and the pork loin with poached apple red wine glaze. Could you even poach an apple? Arthur sat down at the table without taking his eyes off the delicious affair. The waiter announced that dessert would be served after. God, there was still dessert! Arthur had never been to treat himself to lavish food, just because if money was going to be spent well, it would be spent at Claridge's for afternoon tea—which he had actually never done before, but it was on his bucket list, along with every other good tea place in England.

When the waiter departed, Alfred also sat down across from Arthur. The Brit was pulled back out of his food reverie by the sight of Alfred placing his napkin on his lap. _What_?! Such politeness and manners had never before been seen in the former lawyer; napkins had always ended up on the table in a wrinkled messy pile, or forgotten on the ground—if used at all in the first place.

"Alfred..." Arthur began, not sure where to go from here. What was he going to say? _Why are you so polite all of a sudden?_ Yeah, like that was actually a valid complaint. It was just that Alfred was being so weird and so... untouchable. It was with a grim expression that Arthur realized Alfred was basically acting like he should, considering his looks, his former riches, and his high intelligence, especially when it came to the use of words. Maybe the man had finally realized that in this respect, they were completely incompatible. Arthur could not compare.

"Eat, Arthur. Food's getting cold." Alfred wasn't even looking up at Arthur as he said this, already cutting into a piece of lamb, and his voice seemed uncommonly removed. Arthur wanted to cry. Faced with such a rare opportunity to eat fabulous food and he wasn't even the slightest bit hungry. Nevertheless, Arthur quietly took some hake onto his own plate and began to eat, lamenting at the fact that his tongue couldn't taste the richness that was sure to be there. His mind was too preoccupied to have space for any external stimulants.

They ate their whole meal in silence, except for the one time Alfred asked Arthur if he wanted any more wine as he poured some more for himself. Arthur wanted to ask so many questions, like why Alfred was late, what was all of this about, why was Alfred being so cold—and, most importantly, was this the end? The Brit didn't even want to think about it, and this meal was sending mixed messages to him. Would Alfred spend so lavishly for Arthur if the man didn't love him and wanted to celebrate this special day in style? Alfred definitely remembered, right? This wasn't what they did every night, after all. But then again, Alfred was being so cold. No hugs, no kisses, and barely any glances either. Had they even made eye contact once this night?

What irked Arthur the most was how perfect Alfred looked though. This—finely tailored suits, a dinner in Tower 42 surrounded by beautiful scenery, lavish food—this was where Alfred belonged. The man looked so fitting and so in tune with his surroundings here, whereas Arthur was sure that he looked quiet off with his messy hair, average features, homely sweater, and clumsy actions. It wasn't that Arthur was bad at handling a fork and knife—in fact, by American standards, he was fantastic—but somehow, tonight, Alfred seemed so graceful that it made him pale in comparison. It was so different from the man's usual klutzy and obnoxious self that Arthur completely understood now that oft-written phrase "it was like he was somebody else." He just never thought that he would apply it with Alfred.

The waiter came back and served them their dessert, explaining everything just as he did with the main meal. Despite how delicious the toasted marshmallow meringue with strawberry compote looked, or how fascinating the concept of shortbread biscuits with real raspberries, white chocolate mousse, and raspberry ice cream seemed, Arthur still couldn't pull himself out of his slump. He barely tasted any of the dishes, glancing often in his lover's direction. Was he counting down the minutes until he could never use that word to reference Alfred ever again? He at least had to try. He had to fight for what he wanted.

"So... how was work?" He had to start somewhere.

"Interesting." Arthur waited for some followup, considering that Alfred usually rambled on and on with funny stories about coworkers and weird sales clients, but nothing else came. The ex-lawyer continued eating his strawberry compote with a look of great concentration, as if he were avoiding Arthur.

"Has Styles finally asked her out?"

"No."

"... How is Eileen's knee?"

"Better."

"Trip to Sussex?"

"Thursday."

Arthur inwardly growled. This was getting nowhere, and these one word replies were more annoying—and disheartening—than no reply at all. The Brit tried hard to think back about the past few days. Had he done something wrong that he hadn't realized, and now Alfred was harboring resentment for it? Alfred had seemed fine last night, ever present and skillful in bed, especially. Arthur colored at the memory; it seemed so long ago when faced with what had happened today so far.

The Brit felt terrible and so very sad. He didn't want to deal with this anymore. Why was Alfred dragging it out so much? Did he mean for this to be like the last meal before execution? Is this what prisoners on death row felt like? Arthur's expression darkened and he slammed his fist down on the table, his fork dropping to the floor. Alfred looked up, startled.

"Just do it already!" Arthur yelled out, looking down at his plate. Alfred noticed that Arthur was trembling, his cheeks wet with tears.

The ex-lawyer flushed red. How could Arthur know his plans? "What?" he dumbly asked, losing a bit of his posh air.

"If you're going to break up with me, don't draw it out! If you even love me at all, you should have the _decency_ to do it quick."

"Break... up...?"

Arthur's head snapped up, making eye contact with Alfred for the first time that night. The former lawyer could see Arthur's bright green eyes shining with tears. As always, they were the most breathtaking and enrapturing eyes Alfred had ever had the pleasure to see—and somehow, he had been lucky enough to swing a situation in which he got to see them every day. Thus, it broke his heart to pieces to see the regular brightness clouded over with tears.

The former lawyer slowly stood up, looking down at the ground. "... We need to talk."

Arthur swallowed, gaze snapping back down to his plate. He didn't want to have a talk about this. He just wanted to get it over with and leave. They could sort out all the logistics later when things weren't happening so fast. Right now, Arthur didn't particularly have space of mind to think about who would live in the house, or how they would divide up the bank account, or how Arthur would continue to live without the most important man in his life.

"No. We don't," Arthur replied bitterly. "Have the balls to do it without idling. I expected better of—" His words were cut of by the feeling of soft... warm... lips. Alfred's. On his own. Together. _Kissing_. Arthur found himself staring directly into Alfred's piercing blue eyes, barely an inch apart.

Alfred didn't pull away, but he didn't advance the kiss either. He simply stood there, one hand holding the Brit's face as the other encircled the man's delicate waist. After a while, Arthur started to struggle. He felt too confused to enjoy the kiss like he should have, and tried to push himself away. Alfred let him go.

"Wha—?" Arthur started, his fingers on his lips. This wasn't the type of break up he wanted. Why the hell was Alfred being such an ass about it all? "You... you..."

Before Arthur could develop more rage, Alfred closed the distance between them and captured his lover's face in his hands. "Shh... Listen to me. Please." Arthur gave Alfred a wary look, but said nothing, giving silent permission for the man to continue. "Sit down," Alfred said, motioning to the couch. Arthur did so, not taking his eyes off of the handsome figure before him.

Alfred turned around and grabbed his glass of wine. He took a sip before sitting down himself in a chair across from Arthur. "It's almost eight years ago we met," Alfred began, his gaze directed at the ground between them. "Needless to say, we've been through a lot together." Arthur nodded a little, still not quite sure what was going on.

"I know I've let you down in the past—no. More than that. I've betrayed you... And you know that I regret that still, every day." Alfred grimaced a little at the memory. There was a good reason why he didn't go back into his old practice.

Arthur nodded again, giving Alfred a wary and bewildered look. This wasn't the speech that the Brit had expected.

"Remember when I asked you out, that I promised you I'd never hurt you again, and that I'd always protect you from harm whenever I could?" Arthur nodded again. That seemed to be all that he was good for at the moment, considering that he still didn't know where this was going. If this was a break-up speech, it was a damn good one so far. Then again, what did you expect from a former lawyer?

"I've been thinking lately that... umm... I haven't... I can't..." Arthur's grip tightened on the edge of the chair. _Shit_. _Here it comes. _

"I haven't shown you just how much I meant it when I said that I want to be with you... Forever." Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, his grip tensing and relaxing at once. His body was just as confused as his mind was, and his heart was beating faster than it had ever been before. The speed was probably a health hazard. _What's happening..._?

Alfred slipped down to one knee and pulled out a box from his pocket. His face was red and his eyes had taken on a slightly ashen tinge as he looked up at his lover. "Arthur Kirkland, will you be my husband?"

Arthur was speechless. Things were happening too fast, and he had been expecting something so different that it took him a while to register what he saw before him. A man—_his_ man—was on his knees before him, holding out a box. Inside that box was a glimmering gold band with the name of Voltaire Diamonds tagged on the box. Arthur had heard the name before, and he was sure it was from magazine about some famous actor finally getting engaged. This was unreal.

"I... uh..." _Say yes, you idiot_. _YES_. Arthur of course wanted to accept. Every fiber of his meaning screamed for it, but his mind still had some fraction of logic left. Images of Alfred's poised and professional form flashed through the Brit's mind. Alfred was perfect—too perfect. Handsome beyond compare, with a great mind to match. The Brit's imagination ran wild to pictures of their future together, where they would be smiling together in wedding photos, laughing in their honeymoon, with expressions of two people so perfectly in love. It was beautiful.

"No," Arthur replied, fresh tears streaming down his face. He smiled sadly at Alfred. "No, I won't." The problem with those pictures was that they seemed so pitiful, one so handsome and successful, the other average at best. Arthur didn't want to tie Alfred to that.

Alfred was stricken. He had thought that it would work. Of course, he had his fears and doubts just like any person who had ever proposed, and thus he knew he had been acting weird, but he couldn't look Arthur in eye before, so worried was he. That was why he had tried so hard, and had worked even more lately, just so that he could hope to get that promotion that everyone had been talking about. Then he would finally feel comfortable enough with the idea of having Arthur depend on him for the rest of their lives. He thought that after four years of a successful relationship, he had had a chance. He had believed he had a shot... and now, he saw that he had been so unbelievably wrong.

Alfred slumped down on the ground. He leaned his forehead on his right hand, his heart feeling like it was being pierced over and over again by thousands of needles. He had miscalculated very badly, it seemed. Now what would happen of them?

"I'm... I'm sorry. I thought... maybe... I'm sorry." The former lawyer laughed a little hollow chuckle. "I'm an idiot. Forget that happened, _please_..." _Well, this is awkward_...

"I love you, you know," Arthur commented, gazing fondly at his lover. Alfred's gaze snapped up. That comment made no sense at a time like this.

"Then why won't you—?"

"Because... you..." Arthur let himself fall to Alfred's level, so that the both of them were kneeling on the ground. The Brit let out a sigh; he had never wanted to let any of this out, but he _had_ to give Alfred a good reason. Arthur wanted them to be happy together, he really did. He just wasn't sure he could handle engagement, marriage, and then a divorce once Alfred realized his mistake.

"Look at you, Alfred. Look _around_you. This is Tower 42, we're eating in Rhodes Twenty Four, and you're dressed up in a perfectly tailored suit. The way you've been acting today... it's confirmed a fear that I've had for a while..." Arthur trailed off, not sure how to continue.

"... Fear?"

"You're great, Alfred, but you're too great." Arthur had calmed down a bit ago, but was starting to cry again. It broke his heart to pieces to say this. He barely managed to choke out, "How am I going to deal with divorce when you realize that I'm not good enough for you?" Then Arthur crumbled into bawling. He had possessed this fear ever since Alfred had told him the truth in that hospital in what felt like decades ago; Arthur had been so self righteous and angry up until this point, and to realize that Alfred had experienced, in his opinion, so much worse than Arthur ever had, just for the Brit's sake... it hurt. But it hurt in a good way. Arthur knew that he was cared for to an extreme extent—but did he deserve that from someone so well rounded and perfect?

Arthur felt Alfred's arms suddenly and fiercely encircle him, pulling him close. Arthur shuddered at the sudden change in temperature, now very warm from body heat.

"Wha—?"

"You _idiot_. How could you even think about divorce?" Alfred uttered into the crook of Arthur's neck. "You... you're the handsomest man I've ever met... Remember when I first hired you as a driver? Your eyes, Arthur, your _eyes._.. And everything else about you. The way you carry yourself, the strength of your willpower and heart, the care that you have for those you love... Can't you see that I came here today hopelessly in love, and I hope to leave happier, but whether that happens or not, I'll still be hopelessly in love? We've known each other for _eight years_, Art..."

Arthur hadn't settled whatsoever as all of those words rushed out of Alfred's lips. However, when the man had finally finished, Arthur tentatively brought up his hands to caress Alfred's back, feeling the soft fabric of the suit that was sure to be _very_ expensive.

"But I'm... I have those stupid eyebrows, and my fashion sense has never existed, I can't cook, I... I'm not really good for anything but depending on you for everything..."

"... What if that's how I want it?"

"Why would you—?"

"Because it makes me feel like I'm doing _something_ for you in the vague hope of expressing a small fraction of just how much I love you, Arthur. Every morning when I go to work, do you know how much my heart hurts? I miss you with the attraction of the earth forcibly pulled from its orbit around the sun, my love. Can you not see how much I think about you every second of my life? Why would I _not_ want you to depend on me? If I am your man, you will look at no one else... and... you have no idea how happy that thought makes me."

Arthur couldn't believe that Alfred felt the same way. That yearning... the want to stay in bed despite needing to go to work, the restless waiting for Alfred to get back every day, the hours spent driving around half listening to customers half wondering what Alfred was doing at the moment... Arthur had thought that was all him. But Alfred seemed to feel that way too, which flooded him with relief and happiness.

"If anything, Art,_ I_ do not deserve to stand by you... That's why I try so hard every day... so that you may be proud when you declare that I am your love. That's why I've been working harder recently too, and I finally got that promotion to work here—"

"Promotion?"

"Yeah. I'm the head of my department now, can you believe it?" Alfred's voice held a small hint of thrill and excitement, but one could also hear the weariness of having worked so hard to get there. "That's why it's taken me so long to... um... propose. I wanted to make sure I had a stable position to take care of you and make you as happy as you deserve to be." Alfred's grip around Arthur tightened. "But... I'm sorry I misjudged the situation..." Alfred started to pull away. "Maybe after my _next_ promotion, I'll try agai—"

"Yes," Arthur interrupted, murmuring into Alfred's neck, pulling the man closer than ever. Who cared if there were going to be atrocious wrinkles in that suit? Arthur was _in love_. "Yes, Alfred. I'll marry you. Yes, yes, yes!"

Alfred's eyes widened. Arthur continued before the other man could say anything, "And I'm sorry in advance if at the wedding, all your friends wonder why you're taking pictures with what looks to be the bartender, rather than anyone that could possibly compare to you, but... I love you. I love you so much."

Arthur was suddenly pulled into a very passionate kiss. He had been too focused on letting his emotions spill out that he hadn't even noticed Alfred shifting until the man's lips were on his. What followed for the next two minutes was pure heat, a buzzing electric energy passing back and forth between the two bodies. Alfred's tongue and gained entrance to Arthur's mouth, and once it was temporarily sated with exploring those reasons, it moved on to the man's neck, caressing that delicate line that was Arthur's collarbone.

The only thing that stopped Alfred from exploring further onwards and _downwards_ was the box still in his left hand. Pulling back, much to Arthur's protests, the man held forth the ring. Arthur flushed a bright red as the ring was slipped onto his finger. It was a perfect fit.

"With this ring, Arthur, I renew that promise I made to you on that day. Stay by my side, and I promise I'll do everything I can to make you—and Peter—happy." Leaning in closer, Alfred's velvet voice whispered into Arthur's ear, "_Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds_, my dear. I'll always be there, through anything and everything."

Arthur was too flustered to think of any better reply than, "I... I didn't think you read Shakespeare."

"There are many things you still don't know about me, and I about you. But we have all the time in the world to learn." With that, Alfred captured Arthur's lips once again, and the night was lost to love.

"Where does that suit come from?" Arthur asked. They were back at home, cuddling in bed after a _very_ fulfilling time spent exploring "things they did not know"—though honestly, Alfred should have known every nook and cranny of Arthur's body extremely well by now, and vice versa.

"What I was wearing today?"

"Yeah, I've never seen it, and I handle the dry cleaning of all your suits. Are you using it for an illicit affair?" Arthur smiled as he jokingly jabbed Alfred in the chest.

The former lawyer laughed. "I've been saving it for this occasion."

"For how long?"

"... It's embarrassi—"

"How long?"

"... Two years."

Arthur was floored. The man had been waiting two years to propose? Arthur hadn't even thought much about the idea of marriage between them, having been too caught up in the enchantment of every day life with this person before him. It melted his heart to hear that Alfred had been thinking about things so much and for so long.

"And why were you late? What important business meeting prevented you from seeing my _beauteous _face on our anniversary?"

Alfred's cheeks colored even more. "I... uh... wasn't. I've been... I didn't go to work today..."

"What?"

"Well, I couldn't handle the anxiety, and so I spent the day checking and rechecking all my plans. I was 'late' because I was standing outside the door, too fearful to go in... I mean, my greatest fear while standing outside that door _had_ come to pass, so you can't blame me. You _did_ reject me."

"... You're an idiot."

Alfred laughed that laugh which Arthur would never tire of hearing. "The same can be said about you."

"Well then, at least we're idiots together."

Alfred kissed Arthur gently, then wrapped his arms around the Brit's body.

"Forever."

* * *

Author's Comments:

Hey guys... It's finally over. It's done. The saga of three years. It's _finished_. Can you believe it? I barely can. I've been thinking about this storyline so much recently that... well, what will I think about now?

... I guess my next two fics! xD

I hope that you guys thought this was an appropriate ending note for this relationship. I tried my hand at a little fluff at the end, though I _suck_ at writing fluff, so please don't hurt me. _

Also, sorry, but I have no idea what the floor of the Rhodes Twenty Four looks like. All I have is pictures and reviews, so pardon me if I get the details wrong. If anyone has ever been, please tell me how it is! I want to go some day! (Also, do look up Gieves & Hawkes suits if you haven't; they're delecta... bly expensive! But really, they're amazing).

I'll probably launch right into the next two fics (though I have to do some more research and planning for the Revolution fic before writing that, so most likely, the next thing you'll see from me is chapter one/prologue or something of the AU Victorian London fic).

Please let me know what you think, as always!

Love you guys!  
Galythia


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